Okay I Swear This Is Last Clip I Am Posting!

Okay I swear this is last clip I am posting!

Perfectly Intoxicating (Pt.8)

What to Expect: Javier Peña X F!Reader. **SMUT WARNING (Minors do not interact - NSFW). EXTREME FLUFF & More Angst than other parts. Characters and their names have been added to create depth. Far off from the Narcos storyline/timelines at this point. Post Pablo Escobar's death. Pts 1-7 should be read to understand details within the story. Apologies for and errors with spelling/grammar/Spanish. No use to Y/N but physical descriptions/preferences (She is me and I am not sorry). Please Read at your own risk. I am not responsible for what you consume on the internet. Summary: We were working as an assistance to Peña and Murphy in Columbia. You started a casual relationship with Javier that leads to your pregnant with his baby. Sporadic Time Gaps Included in this Pt. Warnings/Mentions of: unprotected PIV sex, fingering, stimulation, orgasms, dirty talk, liquor, swearing, pet names, smoking, breeding k!nk Javi, pregnancy. Theme Song: Value - John Splithoff

A/N: WOW, finally the last official part of my series. (Part 9 will be the Epilogue). IM SORRY IT'S MOSTLY FLUFFY DOMESTIC JAVI BECAUSE IM STARVING FOR HIS LOVE. (The Epilogue will be the smuttiest of smut, the fluff, and a Steve and reader reunion - I promise). As this series comes to a close I want to say thank you so so much to all my readers. I have my new Javi series in the works and its going to be written a bit different, but I am so excited to share it. Join my Taglist All Parts will be in my Masterlist And all my FIPs list what I will be putting out next Enjoy!! and your comments and reblogs mean the world to me -g<33

“Javi!” You call out to him as you try to balance on your apartment couch. Your hand barely able to grab the photo hanging above it. Your one leg up on the arm of the couch as you look down at it, debating on trying to balance to get a better angle. Javier comes around the corner with your dish cloth over his shoulder, wiping his hands off on his jeans. “What are you doing, Cariño?” His eyes widening and coming to your assistance. He grabs your hand and helps you off the couch, soon replacing you and grabbing the photo from the wall.

He hands it to you and your mind replays the moment you brought it home. Your fingers tracing the outline of painted waves. Being the first item to help create the space as your own, now being the last item put away; nurtures the growing feeling of bitter sweetness.

You wrap up the last unpacked item in newspaper and put it in a box. “You should really stop trying to climb the entire place now,” he stands in front of you. “We don’t want to risk any accidents.” His hands come to your hips and move to the sides of your pregnant stomach. He gives you a delicate rub before his hands drift to the sides of your face. “That’s why I called you,” you look up at him with puppy eyes. You both smile and he places a soft and slow kiss to your lips.

You had reached the end of your term in Columbia and were now ending your fifth month of pregnancy. Everything had gone smoothly, aside from the baby doing gymnastics around 12AM every evening. You had spent the week packing up your apartment to have everything shipped to your moms in Miami.

You and Javi had booked a trip to Texas that required you to leave tomorrow, to visit Chucho for two weeks. Soon after, you two would be visiting your mom and moving into a rental that Javi found for you.

Just you… About Mexico…

After a few long nights of discussions, Javi had agreed to take on Mexico after he helped you settle into that rental in Miami.

There was a lot of crying leading up to the decision. Pregnancy hormones weren’t helping and made you more emotional than usual (which was already a lot). Javier was also back to smoking more regularly after trying to quit.

That night after you both found out about the reassignment to Mexico; you had given in to a looming breakdown. “I don’t understand why she would do this to us. I’m fucking pregnant for god’s sake!” You would sit with your back against the bath tub, similar to when you found out you were pregnant. Javier sitting beside you. Your emotions being driven by a replay of all the other agents you could overhear in the office, talking about how Mexico was even more dangerous than Columbia. “Is she trying to get you killed?” You would wail to Javi, puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. Your eyes trying to plead with his. Desperately wanting him to retract his acceptance of this new assignment, without you having to ask.

“I’m sorry baby, Im so, so sorry,” Javier sat with both his arms holding you, as you sobbed into his chest. He kept quiet just rubbing your back, as your cries would eventually die out. Until you were laying in his lap, staring into space. The truth was, Javier was devastated about all of it, too. He wasn’t even sure what to say. In the silence, his mind was running. Javi was trying to think of ways to ‘not fuck this up’. To fix it. To be able to have you and this family life - as well as the job. But he knew deep down that having everything would be impossible. There was always the chance that something like this could happen. That the job could separate you two some more. And what kind of life would that be for you? You, that had been so understanding. Always putting him first when he had first initially told you he would take it. You understood that he needed to do this. But you couldn’t help but feel like a second choice. Talking to yourself repeatedly. ‘What did you expect? you’ve only known the man 12 months and you’re going to have his baby. He could not drop everything for you.’

But as you laid in his lap on the bathroom floor, tears drying sticky against your face, eyes wide open you realized that you have never asked him. Never asked him to choose you as you didn’t want to feel too needy. But it was now or never. As much as you fought it the words slither out of your mouth in regret. “Does she not understand how much I’m going to need you?” you whisper to him, unemotional.

Javier’s rubbing stops and his face hardens at your words. He had been waiting months for you to say that.

He remembers after he got shot. How he wanted you to say you ‘needed him’. How hearing those few words would make him fight for this, for you. He helps you to sit up to look at him. “What did you just say, hermosa?” he asks, his eyes looking stunned into yours. You whimper as you pout. “Javi, I need you. Please don’t go.”

From that moment on, Javier changed. Even more than he already had. He had become very clingy and more loving than usual.

He tried to come up with a solution after your meltdown. He had agreed with the Admin to do Mexico if he was able to come back before the baby’s due date. The shortest time she agreed to was two months, then he could come home when you were moving into the last month of your pregnancy. As if the Administrator couldn’t be more punishing - he was forced into early retirement once the two months were to end. It was either Columbia, Mexico, or Retirement.

The discussion with you following this newfound decision resulted in Javier excitedly crafting up a plan to move in with you. He was relishing in the idea of taking on ‘full time dad.’ He had insisted on this, as much as you tried to be supportive of whatever he were to decide on. But the plan was set. You both were not pleased about his two month absence, but Javier tried to bring in the positive with 'At least it’s only two months, cariño.’

Things had gotten better, but you were still dreading those two months apart that were creeping right around the corner. You wouldn’t be getting any sleep, and neither would Javi. You both were constantly anxious about the distance and what that would entail for your relationship. Ever since Javi found out about the pregnancy, he had been spending every night curled up behind you. In your place or his. His arms holding you and the baby tightly. Barely getting any sleep (not like he did much already). Every shift you would make had his eyes fluttering open and his hands stroking your hot skin. As much as he tried to remain positive for you, the nervousness of not being able to protect you ate at him. Aside from the distance and loneliness, what kept you up most nights was that Javier would be forced into retiring from a job that had become his life. Everything he worked for. A job that had shaped the very person he was. All because you asked. You couldn’t help but feel a massive amount of guilt. Despite each of your concerns, he was constantly reassuring you that a new life was starting. A life of family. Something he couldn’t pass up on. The fuelling need for connection created a strong instinctive urge to protect you and this baby at all times. The feeling hovering over him like a dark cloud, waiting to pour heavy rain in a drought.

A rain that would wash away all the fucking bad things in his life. Give him a clean slate. “After all the death I’ve seen, I need this princesa.” He would murmur to you, before bed, every night since. After all, you needed him. He finally knew for sure now. Call him delusional for believing the rest would fall into place. That is if he could make it home to you, safely. __

“I called Pap yesterday, he’s really looking forward to seeing us.” Javi smiles at you as you walk into the kitchen to throw away some garbage. You just finished packing the last of your things. Leaving one box open for whatever needs to be thrown in last minute. He’s pushing around meat in a frying pan for dinner. You smile, exhausted. “You okay?” he asks. He knows your silence too well now. “Just have a headache,” you whine and shuffle over to him. You move into the nook of his side, resting your head between his chest and arm, you both watch the meat sizzle on the stove. He puts his arm around you, as he shifts the meat around with the spatula, rubbing your back lightly. “Well, you’ve been packing all day. Why don’t I finish this and run a bath before we eat, huh?” He asks, rubbing your arm. You nod, disassociated by the pounding in your head. After the meat cooks, Javi grabs your hand and you follow him to the bathroom. You sit on the edge of the bathtub while he gets the water running. You peel off your sweater revealing one of Javi’s casual white cotton t-shirts. Your belly pokes out of the bottom and he notices the light pink stretch marks that had creeped upwards towards your belly button.

He stares down at you for a minute, smiling and waiting for you adjust yourself. Your brows come together in annoyance at how increasingly worse the headache has become. He gets down on one knee and helps you pull off your sweat pants. Leaving you in nothing but your underwear and his t-shirt. His warm hands come over your covered belly and he leans in, giving the bump a gentle kiss. You sigh blissfully, a smile taking over your expression. Mainly because the warmth from his hands feels better than anything right now. Despite the changes to your body, you had grown more confident and happy with yourself. You had expected to feel the complete opposite. Shy and self conscious. But there was something about being the home for a baby that would be the best parts of both you and Javi; made you radiate. You were meant to do this. It also helped that Javi never let you forget how beautiful you are. Always so clingy, even in public. Not letting go of your hand anywhere, for any reason. Always helping you put your shoes on and had even insisted on stopping to buy you maternity wear, when everything over-sized stopped fitting. After all, this came as a second nature to Javier. You were having his baby, therefore he would do anything to make you the most comfortable. You would never have to ask.

You felt as though you were in a dream, waiting to wake up. Everything felt hazy and way too good to be true. The dream state would dissipate every once in a while. You would slip back into the present, remembering that you only had one month left together. Before being ripped apart by the assignment. Two months was too long. There wasn’t enough time with him in each day.

You hold your hands over his as he leaves them on your stomach. His chocolate brown eyes look softly up at you, a big smile plastered on his face. He’s waiting for his baby to kick. “Never does it when you want” you tell him, unable to contain your laughter at his childlike expression. “Sólo doce por la noche, eh? when your mama is trying to sleep,” he clicks his tongue in annoyance.

‘Only twelve at night.’ He had been speaking more Spanish to the baby lately. You thought it was the sweetest thing. Javier was already the best dad and the best boyfriend.

You were finally starting to believe it. That he needs this just as much as you do. You had an ultrasound appointment tomorrow before the flight to Texas. You both hadn’t decided if you wanted to find out the gender or not, but you had felt as though it was a boy. The idea of giving Javi a miniature version of himself, comforted you. He helps you into the bath with one hand. Your body twitching at the hot temperature. “Oh my god, Javi!” you hiss at him as you slowly go to sit. “What’s wrong?” he smirks. “I thought you could handle the heat?” His eyebrow raises as he tries to stifle a laugh. “Not when I’m already being used as an oven for your child.” You huff out a sarcastic chuckle as you manage to sit amongst the bubbles. He sits at the edge of the tub as you groan in pure contentment. “This feels so good,” your eyes flutter closed. Your headache still pounding into your temples.

Javi sits at the edge of bathtub looking down at you with hooded eyes. His hand dips down into the water and he splashes it lightly up to your exposed collarbones.

He’s always so attentive. It’s what makes you constantly want to give to him. In more ways than one.

You look at him through your lashes before you eyes fall to below his belt. His erection has grown evident against the restricting fabric.

He notices you eyeing him.

“You know what takes headaches away?” He teases, his hand moving lower down your chest.

He toys each overly sensitive nipple as your lips part. Every time he goes to touch you its like your whole body is lit on fire. It almost hurts how bad you ache for him.

The way he’s leaning over you has left him hovering above your face, both lustfully staring at one another.

“I think I know exactly what you’re referring to,” you exhale before coming up to smush your lips against his.

He stays playing with your breasts as your wet hand grips his face, the other coming to the bulge of his jeans.

The warm water soaking into him through his clothes makes him snicker against your lips.

“Someone’s needy,” he groans before kissing you again.

“And it’s only been what?” He pulls off you, to look at his watch.

“Less than 10 hours since I made you” He hesitates, as a smirk covers his lips. "shake, baby.” His deep voice has your heartbeat fall between your legs.

It’s true.

This morning Javi woke you up by eating you out. Which had been happening a lot lately.

“I know but,” you bite his bottom lip.

“I need you again, your fingers-” you drag out before inhaling him into another kiss.

Your palm subconsciously pushing against him harder in his jeans.

“Please Javi,” you pout up at him. There it was again - you saying that you needed him, followed by the prettiest ‘please’ to ever leave your lips.

The way you say his name while you’re begging, gets him kneeling beside the tub. His hand in the water, gliding over your stomach and landing between your legs.

The way you’ve both been kissing these past two months has been incredible. Enough to almost get you there on it’s own.

Slow, wet, and sensual.

He had started frantically sucking and biting at your lips and your neck more often too. Like he couldn’t get enough of you. You let his fingers do the work. In the water he’s still able to feel how ready you are for him. He teases your entrance before his fingers lift to rub your clit slowly. “Javi,” you breath out. “So wet already, hermosa.” He growls. He’s right. With all the changes happening to your body, it didn’t take much. This sensitivity of course, made Javi want you even more. He loved the way he could go for hours until you couldn’t take it anymore. Shaking and practically crawling away from him. He could not get enough and it exhausted you both. His index and middle finger slip inside as his thumb keeps rubbing. You shift in the bath, laying back as you watch him.

The way his cheek is still wet from the bath water on your hand. His jaw clenching and his lips parting slightly as he watches you squirm and moan for him. The way his bicep flexes as his fingers continue to pleasure you.

The vascularity of his arm is enough to almost send you over. Your brows push together and your mouth falls open.

His fingers curl up to find that soft spot that brings you sweet release. “Javi, I,” your eyes squeeze shut as you’re just about over the edge. He smirks, proud of himself. “You’ve been coming so fast, baby,” he huffs. His lips part further as he looks down at where his hand is between you, as though he can see through the layer of bubbles on the surface. The feel of you squeezing against his fingers makes his cock twitch as it grows harder. “That’s it,” he licks his lips. “Come for me,” he exhales. After a few more fast taps with the pads of his fingers, you finish. Letting out little yelps for him, followed by whimpers, as your hands come up to swipe over your face. He gives a few more teasing strokes between your folds as you flinch. “I can’t -I can’t,” you plead, prying his wrist out from between you. Javi pulls his hand out with a laugh and grabs the shampoo from the side of the tub. He’s been kneeling next to the jacuzzi tub. “Come here,” he motions for you to sit with your back to where he’s sitting. You slide over, still breathless. He squeezes the shampoo into his hands, lathering it into your scalp. His strong fingers giving you one of the best head massages known to man.

Your eyes flutter closed and you wonder how you got so lucky. Moments like this, had you convinced that Javier really was the most caring and compassionate man to walk this earth. You knew that relationships had been off the table for him for a long time. Javier had way too much love to give and too little time in his schedule. But you could tell he craved this. Craved the connection. His soapy hands come down to your neck and shoulders, rubbing all the tension out. The headache practically gone. Without even thinking, you let out a euphoric groan. He laughs in return. “That feel good, princesa?” he coos in your ear. You can’t even say anything in return, only little grateful hums. Then you ask him. “How have you managed to stay single?” You both laugh at how ridiculous and random that sounds. “What do you mean by that?” his hands working at the knots in your upper back. “You’ve just been so,” you stare at the blank bathroom wall. “Good to me.” He huffs out another laugh. “It makes me wonder how I’m the one lucky enough to receive all this.” There is a long silence as his thumbs lighten up in pressure, turning into a soothing stroke. Javi’s heart aches at the thought of no one treating you how you deserved.

“I’ve always been good to women,” his voice low. You don’t say anything, as there is an ounce of jealously pooling deep in your stomach. Thinking about all the woman Javi had given this treatment to before you. Rubbing their back, shampooing them. Sticking his fingers inside them and being with them so intimately, like he has been with you. “It’s never been about being good to a woman. It’s,” he starts, taking his time to get the words out exactly how he wants. “It’s been about the timing and the pain of loss.” His words burn your chest, making your heart ache for him. All this time Javier Peña has been scared to lose a partner. Exactly like you were scared, to be lost.

He had tried with Maria and failed. Soon after, trying to avoid the hurt by being alone and focusing on the only thing he felt good at - the job. Not realizing that the loneliness had been wounding him, just as bad.

He had confirmed your suspicions about his views on commitment. It being all too familiar, in a way that fuelled motivation inside you to get this right. It’s no wonder you both fit together so well. Two pieces of a puzzle, depraved of fitting together so effortlessly.

You turn your body to face him as he sits along the outside wall of the bath, your head full of shampoo. “So,” you place your hands over one another, laying your chin on them. Inches away from his face. “Are you afraid to lose me?” you look into his deep brown eyes, eyebrows raising in anticipation. He looks down into his lap, nervously smiling. His head lifting slightly and he looks through his brows at you. “More than you even know.” You watch as his eyes search your face. He’s waiting for some relief from the vulnerability he’s just exposed to you. You search his expression in return, sucking in your lips flat as you debate on saying it. But you do anyways. “I’m afraid to lose you too,” you whisper back. The definition more so meaning you don’t want to lose him by losing yourself. ___ After dinner, Javi helps you change into your new pyjamas and you both settle into bed. As his hand goes to wrap around you like every other night, you turn to face him instead. You both lay on your side, the ceiling fan circulating the cool air through your bedroom. His eyes trail down to your stomach, his hand lifting the side of the tank you’re wearing. His fingers lightly grazing over the vessel being used to create a little human. You watch as his face softens with the twitch of his eyebrows. “Do you want to know tomorrow?” he grumbles, stroking shapes into your warm skin. Your hand stops his, linking your fingers together. “I don’t know,” you huff, both staring at your intertwined hands. “Do you?” you ask him. His eyebrows raise in thought. “I don’t think that part is super important to me.” You both lay silent for a moment longer. You’re almost asleep before he speaks again. “A little girl,” he mumbles, his index finger running a soft line from the top of your bump, to your belly button. “You think?” You ask smiling, half asleep. He sits in his thoughts before speaking. “I like to think she’s like you,” He smirks. “Warm,” he looks at your face, pushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “Kind,” a kiss to your nose. “Selfless.” he finishes with a deep kiss to your lips. You continue to kiss slow, wrapping your legs up in one another, your belly grazing against his body. _____

The next morning you meet with Steve while Javier takes care of some last minute stuff in the office. “So, did you decide?” Steve asks. His blue eyes look up at you over his burrito he’s biting into. It’s like he hasn’t eaten in his entire life. You’re both at a food cart outside, sitting at a wooden picnic bench. He’s referring to the gender of the baby. Wanting to know if you and Javier had made a decision to find out at the appointment today. “We decided to wait,” you tell him, squinting because of the sun. He nods as he chews. “I mean, as long as the baby’s healthy, right?” He tells you, wiping his mouth on a napkin. You both finish your food and head back to the office. You’re officially done your contract so you wait for Javi at his desk. Both your luggage bags parked securely near his desk. “So I will take the liberty of shipping your stuff back to Miami,” Steve says, walking over with a pen and paper for you to write down your moms address. Steve had agreed to ship all of 5 boxes to Miami and your mom offered to pay for it with part of the money your father left her. His estate left enough to cushion her bank account, help you out if needed, and to pay off their large ocean front home. It was your type of dream home. She had always offered you to stay but you couldn’t imagine living with her for longer than a week. The two weeks visiting were going to be interesting, to say the least. Your mother could be a bit… much.

“Thanks so much Stevie,” you smile at him. Part of you was sad, leaving him in Columbia alone. You were going to miss him. He still had months to go out here, and he was losing Peña as a partner because of you.

He returns the gesture, as you stand in front of him. Sadness lingering behind his eyes. As much as he would never admit it, he was sad to lose you too. He would miss having someone to annoy him. His hand comes to the top of your head, messing with your hair. “Take care of yourself, yeah?” He winks at you, trying to hide the devastation. You watch him intently before throwing your arms around his waist. How did he think you would go without a goodbye hug. He immediately invites you in by snaking his arms around your back. Resting his chin down on the top of your head, before giving it a quick kiss. This was his goodbye. Just then Javier rounds the corner wearing a white button up with an open beige vest. His tight blue jeans hugging his legs, just like the first time you laid eyes on him. Your stomach flutters. He really was Intoxicating - Still is - Perfectly Intoxicating. He looks over at you, eyes curious. “Ready to go?” He asks. You nod and he shifts his gaze to Steve. Javi smiles at him, reaching his hand out to shake. Steve goes to return the action but Javi brings him in for a one arm hug instead. After a fast slap on the back he pulls away to look at Steve. “Will’ see ya again,” he reassures him. Steve looks down in awkwardness. After years of being Javier’s partner, he was wrapping up this chapter. But it didn’t mean they weren’t going to see each other again, this time as friends. “Yeah,” Steve sighs, fidgeting with the paper in his hands. “I’m sure you’ll need us to babysit in a couple years anyways.” He laughs. _____ The doctors appointment goes over well. Everything was just as normal as it could be. Even though this baby was testing your limits with constant cravings and the need to pee, it was healthy. And like Steve said, that’s all that matters. You both drive to the airport in silence. Javier has one hand gripping the wheel as the other holds up the sonogram. He stared at it intently with his amber coloured sunglasses on. A small smile pulling at his lips. “This is crazy,” he mumbles. Your heart warms as you watch him, wanting to remember this moment for the rest of your life. You smile as you sit to face him in the passenger seat. “Something to bring with you to Mexico.” The tone of your voice genuine but sad, making Javi’s head turn fast to look at you. He can see the genuine sorrow seeping out of your eyes at the thought of him leaving. He’s mad at himself for it. “I’m gonna have it on me at all times.” He affirms, setting the photo down in the cup holder and grabbing your leg. He gives you a reassuring squeeze to your thigh. “It’ll be my good luck charm.”

______ You both arrive in Texas after almost a 6 hour direct flight from Bogotá Your back is killing you.

Javier’s father Don Chucho had offered to pick you both up at the airport but with you being almost 6 months pregnant, Javier decided to rent a car. He didn’t want his father meeting you for the first time and also finding out about the baby - in an airport. The drive to the ranch was long and excruciating on your back. Javier had stopped multiple times along the way for you to use the gas station restroom, to get snacks, and for you to stretch. Soon, the city view out the window turned into a long stretch of dirt road. Long lengths of field on either side of the vehicle. Some with cows, others with horses. You smile at the view. The idea of little Javier growing up out here and being free from all the violence that was drug related crime; created a contentment that you wished for your own baby. The type of childhood you wished you could have had. As much as you felt bad about Javi retiring, you were selfishly happy that he wouldn’t be doing that kind of work anymore. He could be the type of father to your baby, that you never had. A mentally present one. You sigh at the thought. The long road takes a wide curve leading into a tree line and Javier gives your leg a squeeze. “We’re here.” The truck comes to a soft stop. You sit up in your seat as you stare at the large country home with scuffed white siding and a wrap around porch. The left side of the home is an octagon shape and with the truck window open you can hear the weather vane at the tip of its roof. The metal arrows clinking around in the light blow of the wind. It’s beautiful. You look around at the yard filled with farming machinery. A red barn behind the home and the distant neighs of horses carried by the breeze. A big smile creeping onto your face. You already love it here. Javi gets out of the truck you rented and walks over to your side. Your head sticks out the window, taking everything in. You’re mesmerized by how calm the air feels. “Javier!” you hear Don Chucho exclaim. You smile as you watch him waddle out the front door of the large house, sporting his white cowboy hat and thick moustache. His arms are open in a welcoming gesture, before he uses the old railing to help himself down from the porch onto the thick grass. You smile as you look him up and down. His grey hair neatly combed back in his hat. The colour matching his moustache that is significantly thicker than Javiers. He’s wearing similar sunglasses to his son and a blue long sleeve button up, rolled half way up his forearms. Blue jeans pulled over his dark brown cowboy boots. It’s like you’re staring at someone famous, considering everything you’ve heard about him. He walks to your side of the vehicle where Javi stands next to your door, nervous. You place your hand on his shoulder and he turns his head to face you, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip. Your touch instantly calms him. Giving him a reassuring nod before looking to Chucho. “No hug for your old man?” he grumbles to Javier. Smiling big with his arms spread wide. The wrinkles around his mouth when he looks over at you, suggest he’s lived a happy life. Aside from losing his wife.

“Hey Pap,” Javi walks slowly over to his dad and they engulf one another in a rough embrace. Chucho walks over to you and sticks his hand out to greet you. Your head lifts from resting on the edge of the open window and you reach your hand out to him in return. You give him a stern and confident handshake. “And you’re,” You cut him off to introduce yourself. “It’s nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard so much about you,” you smile, wide. Chucho looks to Javier as he grips your hand in both of his, giving you a pat. It’s like he’s giving Javier the eye - ‘I like this one.’ It instantly makes Javier smirk while looking down at his feet. “You have a beautiful place here,” you tell him, your eyes taking another scan of the property. Chucho lets go of your hand and places his hands on his hips, as he too looks around. You watch as so many of Javiers mannerisms come from his father. It makes you almost laugh. “Well, thank you darlin’.” He stares between you and Javi as silence fills the air. “Why don’t we get you outta’ that truck and inside, huh?” He asks reaching for the handle. Javier almost panics at the need to be cautious. He grabs the truck door from Chucho to slow it’s opening. Javier’s readiness to help you takes Chucho by surprise and he steps back. The door is open, blocking your body from Chucho as your sneakers hit the grass. The pain in your back makes you wince. “You okay?” Javi asks quietly, overly concerned with wide eyes. “Yeah,” you exhale. “I have to just grab my bag.” You turn back into the truck and Javier watches you intently. “Wow, you two are like a moth and a flame” Chucho grumbles out to Javier. He had never seen Javier so careful and attentive around a woman since Lorraine, or even his mother.

Javi looks sideways at his father, almost scolding him. Chucho lets out a raspy laugh at the annoyance in Javi’s expression. You turn back to face Javi, adjusting your shirt over your growing belly. He looks down at you and you give him a confident nod, ready for what’s about to come. Javier leads you by your hand, out from behind the truck door and slams it shut. You slowly move your eyes to Chucho’s face as his fall to your body and stop at your stomach. The silence is loud as Javi moves beside you and grabs your hand tight. “Pap, this is uh,” he stutters, scratching the back of his neck. “The reason we came here.” Chucho stays blinking at your baby bump for what seems like hours. Unable to say anything. Javi looks at you worried, he’s wondering if he’s broken his father. Chucho’s hesitant eyes look through his brows at Javier, then to you. When finally, he moves. He hobbles up to you, eyes back glued to your stomach. “May I?” his dark eyes look into yours, moustache twitching. You nod with a quiet, “Of course.” His old and worn hands come to your stomach as he stares down at it.

You can feel his warmth through your shirt as one hand moves from the side of your tummy to the top of it. A smile finally pulls at his lips as a little foot kicks his palm. Your eyes widen and you both can’t help but chuckle. The laughter pulls a relieved sigh out of Javier. It’s as if he’s been holding his breath waiting for his fathers reaction.

“Oh ya,” Chucho’s low voice vibrates through you. “That’s a baby Peña in there,” he looks back up at you through his grey brows. “A kicker just like it’s daddy.” ___

After a long tour of the house and farm area you finally sit at the edge of the bed, pulling your sore feet into your hands, giving them a quick massage. Javier closes the guest bedroom door and walks straight over to you. He gets on his knees in front of you, making you drop your leg back down. His face red as though he might combust. He looks at you intensely, creating worry in your reaction. “Javi, is everything,” He cuts you off by cupping your face in his hands gently, and kissing your lips soft. It lasts for a while. Tangling tongues and taking turns nipping at each others lips. He finally pulls away as you exhale onto him. The kiss was enough to flood your core with arousal . “What was that for?” You ask, breathless.

His nose drags across yours softly, as he smiles. “I’m just really, happy.” He’s almost giggling. You smile as your stomach flutters like it always has. You love happy and giggly Javier.

It also made him extremely horny.

“How’s your back?” he asks, forehead still pressed to yours as his arms fall to your sides. His fingers tracing shapes into your hips, enough to tickle you. Your eyes flutter shut as you breath out a response. “It’s alright. It’s more my feet now,” you moan at the feeling of his breath on your lips, and his fingers playing with the bare skin of your hips “Mmm,” he hums, his tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “Does my girl need a foot massage?” his eyebrow lifts slightly and you both inhale each other in another kiss. “Yes, please.” _______ Chucho insisted on you and Javier relaxing will he makes dinner. You both sit on the front porch swing, listening to cicadas and crickets singing all around the yard. You can hear Chucho banging around in the kitchen through a nearby open window. Even with the glow of the inside lights, it’s especially dark and you’re able to see every single star in the sky. If you could see them in Columbia, you had never taken the time to really look. Being here, aching feet being rubbed by Javi’s strong hands, was the best you had felt in a while. Even the smell of the air was different. “I love it here,” you hum with a dazed smile. Javi lets out a little laugh through his nose, looking at you before looking straight ahead at the property. “Yeah, it’s alright.” There is silence between you as you watch his extremely handsome side profile. His brows furrowing and his lips slightly parted like usual. “And your dad,” you start. Javier’s expression hardening at your words. “He seems nice.” You stare at your fingers as you pick at your thumbnail, nervously. “At least he handled the pregnancy better than my mom probably will.” You sigh, your words drifting off. Javi looks over at you, lifting your legs to move closer. Your knees pulled up into his chest, as you lay against the arm of the slightly rocking swing. A cozy blanket draped over you both. It was the first time you noticed that about Javier. He knew you so well already. The minute you were anxious; he would subconsciously move closer or touch you in some way to reassure. Instantly making you feel less alone and providing an unprecedented amount of support. It was something you had never experienced with any men that came before him. He made you feel…

Secure

No wonder why this time was so different already.

“My father is alright.” he looks down at where he rubs your legs in his lap. “He likes to do this thing called,” he looks over at you, raising an eyebrow. “Hold my past against me.”

You can’t help but let out a chuckle. “All parents are like that,” you sigh. Your fingers play with the blanket as you look up at the sky. “He probably just has regrets from what happened to your mother,” you start, hesitating. “And he’s projecting them onto you.” You both sit in silence for a couple minutes, Javi is back to zoning out at the land in front of him. “He probably doesn’t want you to have any regrets or mistakes or what ever the fuck he has,” you laugh at your inability to give any mind blowing advice. Javier looks over at you as you look back down at your hands. Your face radiates from the soft glow of the lights inside, your hair slightly blowing in the breeze created by the swing, wearing an agency zip up of his over your cute little baby bump. He’s never seen anything more naturally beautiful than you in this moment. And he realizes, he doesn’t have any regrets. He has lived in regret his whole life and look where it got him. Sick to death of his job, lonely, and unable to form deep connections. Then he met you. Where just sex became more than that. All because he had let you in a little bit more than all the others. This was the best he had felt since leaving Lorraine at that alter, over 10 years ago. All because he met you. Now you were giving him the best gift anyone could ever give him and he would spend his whole life thanking you for that. His full time job after Mexico would be creating the best life for his new little family and part of him couldn’t wait.

His hand reaches out to grab yours, intertwining your fingers with his. Your eyes meet. “I don’t think I have any regrets, anymore,” he coos softly, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. You both stare, both awaiting your response. “Me either,” you reply bashfully. ___ Dinner had been so satiating, creating a tiredness in you like no other. You both said goodnight to Chucho after he had taken the liberty to plan an entire excursion for you and Javier, starting early tomorrow morning. He had mentioned a stream farther down the property that Javier used to hangout at when he was a little boy. You expressed interest in checking it out as Javi stayed unimpressed by his fathers antics. Chucho had then discussed the horses with you. If you knew how to ride them, if you felt comfortable on horse back at 6 months pregnant. “I used to ride all the time. My mom would take me back in Miami.” You would tell the old man. He turned to Javier, giving him an approving grin. “And as long as it’s a slow walk, my bladder should be okay with it.” So it was settled. Chucho would ready the horses in the morning and give you and Javier some food to take with. Spending the day on a soft blanket near the rushing stream, with nothing to do. No deadlines, no cartels, and no gunshots, and no mexico pulling him away from you. The thought alone, was enough to spark desire you never knew existed. You both needed that. Javier had actually agreed. He too, wanted to be close to you with zero interruptions. You both lay in bed in your usual position. His body pressed up against your back. No clothing on either of you, since the house was 100 degrees all year round, and you both ran hot in your sleep. As the back of your body molded into Javier, he kissed your bare shoulder in front of him. Goosebumps rose onto your skin, making him do it again. This time nibbling up to your neck. You don’t oblige, practically still wet from that kiss earlier. Javier’s warm hands wrap around to your stomach, and you lay yours on top of his. His hips rocking into your back side, his soft cock growing hard at the need to have you covering him. His hands leave your stomach and reach up to your breast, twisting and pinching softly at your nipple. Arousal leaks out of you at only the sensation his soft hands create.

He loves that he doesn’t have to do much, for you to turn into a puddle for him lately. His hand leaves your chest for a minute and you can feel his cock slipping through your legs and between your folds. Continuing to rock himself against you. The bed slightly squeaks, making him stop his movements in paranoia before continuing slowly. He teases you, his cock dragging up and down against your dripping heat, wetting him. You turn your head back as far as it will go and he meets you half way. Giving you an extremely slow kiss. Your lips on each other is the only sound filling the room. The intimacy of the darkness and the silence, is something you hadn’t yet experienced with Javier. You had always been able to see each other. This time the room was pitch black and neither of you were saying anything. “You have to stay quiet, querida.” His breath so hot in your ear, making your hips rock back again, gliding the tip of his cock to tickle your sensitive bundle of nerves. “Can you do that?” He asks, before kissing that spot below your ear. “Mhmm,” you breath out while nodding, impatient. You try to stop your hips from rocking faster into him. As they come back to meet his again, his cock slides into you with no contest. As you absorb his full length, you can’t help almost moaning. The way he’s hitting your g-spot in this position has your clit throbbing to be stimulated. You should’ve known by now with Javier, you don’t have to utter the words. His hand comes around to your front and snakes under your belly. His big hand spreading you open, as he rubs circles just where you need with his two fingers. You both had always been so good at reading each others minds, especially when it came to sex.

You really were two puzzle pieces. The thought of sex like this for potentially the rest of your life, had you whine out in pleasure. Javier lets out a satisfied whisper. “That’s it,” he coos. “Just like that.” His lips parting more. He practically whimpers against your back as your hips rock into his, pulling his member in and out of you so easily. He slows his pace as his lips graze against your shoulder, his hand leaving your clit to interlace his fingers with yours. “huh- oh my-god,” he pants quietly into the back of your neck, his hips rocking to meet yours over and over. You both elicit barely any sounds. Only the faint wetness of you dripping all over him, both chasing your finish. Javiers hand comes to your face, bending it back to him. He kisses you again, slow and sloppy. Moaning into each other’s mouthes. He doesn’t speed up but his hips snap harder into you. The tip of his cock molding that soft spot inside you, just for him. “Look at you,” he breaths against your mouth. “Doing such a good job for me,” he grumbles out, his voice quiet enough not to form any suspicion. The praise is enough to send you into your impending orgasm. His looming shortly behind yours. “Anything for you, Javi” you breath before squeezing your eyes shut and your mouth falling open. Javier’s hand instinctively comes up to your mouth, covering it with his fingers. He’s unsure if you’re able to keep your pleasure inaudible and he wants to be extra careful. You obey his ask though. No sounds leaving your lips, as your teeth lightly graze his fingers. This alone set’s him off, his hips digging deeper into you on each thrust, becoming messy. Javi’s hand falls from your mouth to your chest, squeezing your breast hard. The sound of his soft and needy whimpers fill the room. You try to steady your breathing without loud pants and your hand comes up to reach the back of his head. Your fingers grip into his messy brown bedhead, pulling him closer into the side of your face. His awaiting release finally erupts inside you. The familiar warmth of his come filling you up, his length twitching as you grip it hard. You both stay in this position, trying to quietly catch your breath. His lips kiss your cheek softly, before nestling into your ear. “If you weren’t already pregnant,” he pants. “that would have definitely put a baby in you.” His words give you chills, everywhere. You had never expected Javi to be so turned on by the idea of breeding you. You couldn’t begin to imagine what your future held after this first pregnancy would be over.

If this relationship didn’t change in any way, and you both kept up like this; having more kids with Javier didn’t totally freak you out. What did, was thinking about the way you saw commitment 12 months ago, compared to now. This was another thought simply provoked by this moment. How could you be so afraid but so ready and willing when it came to a life with Javier. I guess your mother was right when she told you ‘it just takes the right person.’

_______

Your eyes flutter open to bright sunlight casting through the sheer curtains of the guest room. You lay on your side, blinking the sleep from your eyes and slowly sitting up. Aside from you, the big bed is empty and silence fills your ears. You smile at the peacefulness. It’s nothing compared to the odd sounds of gunshots and busy traffic in Columbia. It was also the first time that you had awoken by yourself since Javi had been sleeping with you. It seemed he felt safe enough here on the ranch, to leave you sleeping alone. You get up and shakily slide on a pair of shorts and baggy t-shirt. Throwing your messy bed head in a scrunchie on top of your head. After brushing your teeth and performing the rest of your morning routine, you climb down the stairs to an empty living space. You walk to the kitchen where there is a bowl of fresh fruit on the counter. You pick at it when your attention is grasped by the sounds of horses in the distance. Peering out the open kitchen window you can see movement near the barn. Without putting on shoes, you leave through the back door and down the stairs of the porch. Your feet hit the thick soft grass and you smile to yourself. The sensation below your toes making you sigh in inexplainable comfort.

You walk carefully to the side of the barn where you can hear Javi and his father through the crack in the door. You’re about to open it, but their conversation makes you stop and listen.

“You can’t run from this one, son” Chucho tells Javier as he digs into a feed pale. “I’m not running.” Javi cuts him off bluntly. Your eyebrows furrow together in confusion, heart beating loud in your ears. Chucho turns to Javier, staring at him for a few seconds. “What?” Javi asks, frustrated already. “That’s what you said last time.” ‘last time’? Your chest tightens. “Yeah, well last time was different,” Javier groans. “Lorraine wasn’t much different,” Chucho huffs as he wanders the barn. “She wasn’t pregnant, but she was still a good person and you ran.” “I ran because it wasn’t right!” Javi snaps at him, cutting his father off. There is a heavy silence and your eyes dart back and forth between them. They both still haven’t realized that you’re standing behind the crack of the door. “You hold these things against me Pap,” Javi’s voice softens. “Like I can’t make mistakes.” He huffs in defeat. “That was over ten years ago.”

Chucho’s mouth twitches as his stern eyes don’t leave his sons. He walks over to Javier slowly, dropping his hand to Javi’s shoulder. “All I’m tryna’ say is that,” he licks his lips. “I know you son, you’ll get lost chasing murderers in Mexico. You’ll get your priorities messed up again and,” Your heart beat in your ears has become so deafening that you have to take deep breaths to continue listening. “And what, hmm?” Javi taunts him. “You think I’ll walk away from my family?” family?

Chucho’s hand slowly falls from his shoulder. “I just don’t want you to have any regrets,” he sighs. “Like you have regrets about Ma?” Javi deflects. Chucho’s nostrils flare. “I did all that I could for your mother.” He growls at Javier. “Just like I’m going to do whatever I can for her.” Javi barks back at him. Don Chucho doesn’t reply. His hand reaches up to Javier’s face and pats him gently. “Okay.” He forfeits. Chucho exits the barn out the other door and you watch Javier stand at the stall of a dark brown horse. He grumbles under his breath, something in Spanish. His arms stretch against the stall in front of the horse and it rubs its nose against his shoulder. He pats its face. “I know, I know.” he murmurs to him. The sliding of the door where you’re standing, takes him off guard. He turns to look at you, face flushing a deep red. “Hey, I didn’t know you were standing there.” He tries to smile off the awkwardness of you possibly overhearing everything. “Who’s Lorraine?” you ask, flatly. Your heart still beating. Javi pauses, looks around the barn before walking over to you. “She’s a,” he hesitates again, clearing his throat. “A friend of mine I was supposed to marry over ten years ago.” Your breath hitches. Not in jealously, but rather in sadness for them both. “And what happened?” you ask him, eyes wide in curiosity. “I left to join the Columbian DEA, but I,” he hesitates again, unable to look at you. “I left her at the alter.”

His words burn in the back of your throat.

“And my father, well,” his dark brown eyes look up at you through his brows. “He thinks when I leave to Mexico, I will be making the same mistake.” “And will you?” You cut him off, tears welling into your eyes. Not for the purpose that you believe he will but for the purpose that he’s done it before, and the idea of him doing it to you coils your stomach in anger. “Are you kidding me?” he pleads, walking over to you. He stands directly in front of you, taking your hands in his. “Everything I’ve decided has been with you in mind. Everything I’m doing is for you, for us.” Your eyes squint shut in pain and you pull your hands from his to wipe your eyes before the tears roll. “Javi, I don’t.” you start, sucking in a shaky breath. “I want you to want this.”

“And who said I don’t?” he looks at you confused. “I know but,” you whine, looking around the barn before back at him. “I don’t want you to make all these decisions for me, for us, because you feel obligated.” Your hand falls to the top of your belly. Here it comes. The ‘doubt’ word vomit.

“I don’t want you to forfeit any part of your life for this.” His hands come to your arms, trying to cut you off without words. “I just don’t want you to regret choosing-,” “Stop,” he cuts you off. You look at him with desperate eyes. Hoping he can see the sincerity behind all your guilt. That you didn’t want him to regret choosing this life with you. “I told you,” he starts, softly. “I don’t have any regrets.” You both huff out a smile and there is another wave of silence as he strokes your arms.

“You have to stop that, ya’know.” His thumb coming to your cheek to wipe a tear that managed to escape. “Stop what?” you laugh pathetically as you look down at where he’s now holding your hands.

There is a quick pause before he continues. “Stop thinking you’re not worthy of this kind of love.”

love?

Your heart beat begins to quicken again and your exhales become so deep it feels like a punch in the chest. You both don’t know what to say next, as you search his expression for an ounce of denial. But there is nothing. No retraction or reversal visible on his face. He really meant it. “So this is,” you start. “We don’t have to say it yet,” he cuts you off. Not for the reason he doesn’t believe it, but for the reason that he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. He knows you’re not there yet.

A grin tugs at your cheeks and you nod in agreement. “Now, I think we should get to our picnic date, huh?” he smiles, taking your hand and leading you through the barn.

____________________

The two weeks at the ranch flew by effortlessly and before you know it, you’re getting on another flight. This time to Miami. Your anxiety rising in your gut like a cauldron boiling over. Eyes darting all over the busy airport. Javi stands with you in the boarding line for the plane, as you chew your lip and twiddle your thumbs. He looks down at you, grabbing your hand to make you stop. “It’s going to be okay,” he mumbles to you, giving you a reassuring wink. You look at him before looking around again. “You don’t know my mother.”

The rental car pulls up a rocky driveway surrounded by sand and thick green hedge. Two big stone pillars highlighting the entrance to the large, modern, stone home. You both exit the vehicle and your eyes close in bliss at the salty smell of the air. The sounds of the roaring waves behind the house bring you comfort amongst all the distress you’ve been feeling, your entire drive here. “Wow,” Javier’s words cut off your daydream. “This is,” You look over at him, as he eyes the big house. Smiling and lifting an eyebrow, you respond. “Isn’t it?”

You get the urge to skip into the home that you grew up in. You haven’t been back in a while and you forgot how much you missed it’s nostalgia.

Just then, you remember the biggest thing stopping you from running in to greet your over bearing mother. The visible baby bump. Your eyes glaze over in immediate regret, regarding being back home. “Javi, I don’t think I can.” Your voice shakes as he rounds the car to come in front of you. His eyes widen with concern. “Listen,” he licks his lips as his hands hold yours. “If it gets bad, we can leave. I can book us a hotel,” he rambles. “We don’t have to stay here if you’re uncomfortable.” There is it again, the never ending, unprecedented amount of support.

It instantly calms you, giving you the courage to get the initial reaction over with. Somehow, you end up at the front door, knocking lightly to hear a response in return. “It’s open!”

You take a deep breath before twisting the handle open. Seeing your mother with her back turned to the modern beige coloured kitchen, cutting a fresh pineapple on the large island in front of her.

Immediately you think how you should have called. You should have told her when you found out. You should have told her when you phoned her to tell her you would be bringing your handsome, Spanish, DEA agent, boyfriend of 10 months to see her. She’s going to be pissed.

Javi can sense your tension and he steps in front of you, a large smile plastered across his face, putting on a show for her. “Hola, Preciosa!” he beams at her. A large smile spreads across her face as she rinses her hands and heads straight for him. “You must be Javier Peña!” she gloats. Her arms draw out into a hug gesture and Javi doesn’t waste any time. He throws his arms around her and rocks her side to side. He’s doing a good job taking the attention off you. Bless his fucking soul.

“What did you call me?” she smiles at him. The energy between them surprises you. So natural and like they’ve known each other for years.

“Hello gorgeous.” he translates for her. Her cheeks heat as she steps away from him. “Well if you’re trying to make a great first impression, it’s working.” She playfully smacks his shoulder before her expression becomes more serious. “It’s very nice to meet you, Javier.” “Same to you,” he cups her hand in his. Similar to how his father did yours.

Javi gently steps back to stand beside you instead of in front of you. His arm wrapping around your shoulder as your mother takes a moment to look at you, finally realizing. Her face falls from ecstatic to unimpressed. Her nostrils flare as her eyes quickly shift from your stomach back to your face.

“I see you’ve been busy.” Her attitude harsh and her arms cross over her chest.

There it is. Turning from soft and kind to cold, dissociative, and manic.

“It’s nice to see you too, mom.” you mumble out, embarrassed. She’s always looked at you like you’re on display. Making you extremely uncomfortable. Her eyes slightly roll as she turns her back to you both and walks back to the kitchen.

Without so much as a hug.

Javi awkwardly stands beside you, his smile fading when he realizes that you were right about your mother all along.

He clears his throat with a cough before he goes to speak. You grab his arm before he can say anything. Your mothers eyes look at you both through furrowed brows, as she continues to cut the pineapple. “You know where the guest room is.” she snaps, the knife ending the interaction with a hard slam to the cutting board. You scoff and grab your luggage, dragging Javi by the arm down the hall. As soon as the door closes your eyes well up into tears. “See,” you sob. “I told you,” you frantically pace as Javi sits on the edge of the bed. As always he’s trying to figure out a way to make it all better. “We shouldn’t have come.” You sniff, trying to pocket the tears. He stands to his feet, walking over to you slowly. His hand on your shoulder makes you grasp at him in a tight hug as you let a few cries out. “How am I going to do this Javi?” you ask, looking up at him with pain in those big, beautiful eyes. It makes his heart ache. “How am I going to do these next two months if my mother won’t support me. I will be all,” you words drift as your eyes fall shut. “Alone.” He doesn’t say anything. Only brings you to the bed and holds you while you cry.

Before you know it, he’s lulled you to sleep. ____ Javier opens the door slowly, careful not to disturb you as you snore peacefully.

Hours have passed and the sun was now setting against the ocean. The deep orange colour lights up the entire home as all the windows hang open. The sound of seagulls and waves are all he can hear, as he searches for your mother. He reaches the kitchen where the open sliding door reveals her on the deck, hunched over as she holds a cup of hot tea and a cigarette.

He swipes a nervous hand through his hair as he slides the screen door open, getting her full attention. She looks over at him blankly, before turning back to the view of the wide spread ocean in front of her. Javi walks over slowly, taking a seat in the padded outdoor chair beside the small couch she is seated on. They sit in silence for a short time before your mother places the mug down on the coffee table. They both stare off in different directions. “Do you mind?” Javi asks, pointing to the pack of cigarettes on the table. Your mother pushes them towards him with the lighter. Javi lights a drag and inhales the smoke like he’s been deprived his whole life. “She’s not going to be able to do this,” you mother cuts him off. Her eyes drift over to Javi’s as she squints at him. They sit making eye contact for a while before he clears his throat and leans forward, looking away for a moment. “What makes you think that?” he asks her, his tone gruff.

She huffs out a sarcastic laugh and takes a puff of the cigarette laying limp between her fingers. “Because she likes to run from everything.” her voice is dry, emotionless, and it makes Javier’s blood boil. His nostrils flare as he takes a deep inhale. His body slumps back into the chair and his arms cross over his chest. Your mother watches his body stiffen as she positions herself sideways to face him. “You don’t know her like I do,” she tells him. Smirking as her lips meet her mug. “And what is it that you know?” he asks again, in a tone similar to an interrogation. “She was with her ex for four years, it was a good relationship and she.” “Was it good though?” he cuts her off, almost snapping. She stops and her head tilts to glare at him in disbelief, as he shifts in his seat again. “With all due respect, ma’am.” He starts, changing to a softer tone. “Your daughter is the most calculated, thoughtful, compassionate, and selfless woman I have ever had the honour of getting to know.” Your mother’s face falls soft. “And as far as Ive gathered, there was a lot that was wrong in her last relationship. From what I know,” his eyes burn into hers. “She was expected to fill some pretty big shoes.” He leaves room for your mother to interject, but she doesn’t. “She considered everyone’s feelings, except her own and that’s why she ran.”

He takes another puff of his cigarette, blowing the smoke as he continues. His hand reaches out to her leg, her eyes watching carefully. “Excuse me for seeming out of line but, I think it’s time that we consider her feelings,” he treads carefully. “That means believing in her, and supporting her. Even if you think it’s not right.” “And do you think it’s not right?” She asks him, her eyes narrowing into his. He watches her expression and his hand comes back into his own lap. His tongue sweeps across his top lip and his fingers run quickly across his moustache. He looks around as though to check if anyone is around to hear his response. “I think she’s old enough to make her own decisions and it would help to have support from those that are supposed to love her.” His response is cold towards her. He’s trying to draw her attention to acknowledging his words, rather than looking for validity in her skepticism. She sits in silence, her eyes adverting back to the ocean, shifting in her seat. He watches her through furrowed brows as her expression softens. His eyes fall to his lap in front of him. “And to answer your question, I will always think she’s doing the right thing.” He taps his cigarette before placing it back to his lips. “I have never tried to change her. I want her for exactly who she is.” He stands to his feet and removes his socks. Throwing them onto the deck before climbing down the stairs and onto the sand, ending the conversation. Your mother watches him as he wanders out to where the waves crash against the sand. His arms fold against his chest, as he walks the shore line. “Mom?” you mumble shortly after, rubbing your swollen eyes as you stand in the back door way. Your mothers hard expression dissolves, as though everything Javi had just said to her, finally sinks in when she sees you standing there. Her baby girl, pregnant and all. “What’s up my darling?” She coos. You step out onto the cold wood of the deck and look around. “Where’s Javi?” you ask her. Sleep still lingering in your voice. You watch as she points straight ahead to a figure in the distance, he’s pacing against the shore, his pants rolled up and feet submerged in the wet mixture of sand and ocean. She looks back at you as she watches you stare at him. A smile curving onto your lips and a sparkle in your eyes that she hasn’t seen before. It creates a small smile from her as she waits for you to break the silence. Instead you pull off your socks and almost run to meet him. Your mother watches as you reach out to touch Javier’s arm and he turns to look at you, his expression melting into a consoling grin when he realizes it’s you. His arm immediately pulls you into him and he places kisses to your face. Drowning you in little pecks as you try to pull away, giggling. Your mothers smile spreads larger as she watches you both, now running around on the beach. Javi sticks out his arms and stands as though he’s going to race towards you. You laugh, standing feet away from him with your hands out in front of you. Through the wind she hears you whine out “Javi, Don’t!”

Your mother stands, moving to lean against the railing of the deck as she watches.

Javi darts towards you and you let out a playful shriek. His arms encompass you in a big hug from behind and he squeezes you tight. His head turning to kiss your cheeks some more. You smile with all your teeth and your mother watches you intently, almost laughing with you. Maybe Javier had a point. Maybe this was the right thing. ____________ Days go by with your mother and Javi. There was a shift in her energy since the initial introduction. You didn’t know what brought it on but you were happy to no longer be the centre of all her malice.

Her and Javi had created a bond as well. Spending time in the kitchen as she showed him how to make 'signature dishes’ that she claimed were your favourite. You all spent late nights in the living room, combing through boxes of your baby stuff. Your mother watching as you and Javier lit up, finding little baby shoes and overalls. “Those your father got for you,” she would say, pointing to a small pair of grey New Balance sneakers, so small that they fit in Javier’s palm.

Hearing her talk about your father was like a stab in the stomach. Despite all the bad things, you still thought about him almost every day. He would have made a great grandpa. “He had good taste,” Javi pulls you from your thoughts. You sit between Javi’s legs on the floor, as he sits on the couch. He leans, hunched over your shoulder as you go through the big brown box in your lap. Your hands gently pull out a photo album and your breath hitches. Your fingers shake as you open the cover to reveal a photo of you as a newborn. Your mother now in the kitchen, pouring herself and Javi a drink. She wanders back into the living room and sits on the chair across from you both, another box in front of her. “Your baby book,” she tips her glass to point at the album you’re flipping though. You scan the pages to reveal a lock of hair in a plastic bag, a tiny hospital bracelet with the words almost smudged off from being so old, and an array of photographs. The next page you turn to makes you hold in your breath. It was a photo of your dad. Your tiny baby body laying stomach down along his forearm, as he held your tiny face in his large hand. Your eyes fill with tears as you stare at his smiling face.

The silence is thick and Javi places his warm hand on your shoulder. “That was his favourite thing to do with you,” your mother’s voice softly breaks the silence. “You would be crying and he would flip you to lay on him like that, and boom,” she huffed out a laugh. “Silence.”

You sniff out a giggle, wiping the tears from the side of your face.

“Meanwhile,” she starts again, sipping from her drink and placing it on the table beside her chair. “I had to damn near shake you.” Both you and Javi let out a breathy laugh. You hand the open book to Javi, as you continue to explore the box below you. He takes the book gently, placing the open page in his lap. His eyes look at your father, down to little you, then down to you between his legs. A grin pulls at his lips as he imagines what fatherhood will be like for him. Thinking about recreating this picture with your baby.

later the next day, you wake up late, to the sound of a cordless drill. As you stumble out of the bedroom and down the hall, you see Javier drilling a white shelf to the wall in the dining room. “Good Morning, sleepy head.” He grins. You cover your face with your hands, opening your fingers to peak an eye at him. “What the fuck are you doing?” you grumble. “Language young lady,” your mom jokes, rounding the corner with two glasses of lemonade. “You don’t want your baby adopting that potty mouth,” she places the drinks on the table and Javi puts the drill down to take a long chug of the fresh liquid. “Javier here, has volunteered to hang these shelves I’ve had for years and never hung.” She sings, pulling out a dining chair to sit down. Her legs overlapping on another, as she watches him. You look between them, eyebrows furrowing. “Get dressed,” she orders you. You stay still, staring at her blankly. “Go on! I have a list of things I need you to pick up from the market,” she shoos you back to the bedroom. Your hands stroke over your six months pregnant stomach dramatically as Javi stands with his hands on his hips, chuckling as he watches you. “Oh, Im so sorry,” you tease. “Im so pregnant, I think I might burst, I don’t think I can go to the market today.” You whine out, trying not to laugh at yourself. Your mother rolls her eyes at your obvious jokes and shoos you away with one last gesture of her hand. _____ ‘Tomatoes - check Lettuce - check Cucumber - check

Lemons - check Olive Oil’ She’s making a salad with vinaigrette dressing, you think to yourself as you search the shelves. Your stomach churns in hunger at the idea of a fresh salad. ‘Settle down, just gotta find the oil and we’ll be eating soon.’

Your hand caresses your growing bump. You push the cart as your body is turned to face the isle. So many fucking oils to chose from.

Just as you spot the olive oil you’ve seen in your mother cupboard before, a familiar face passes you. Your eyes meet his and you smile when you realize.

Martinez

He smiles and says ‘hey’ followed by your name. The woman with him stops as he does and her expression is confused. You step away from your cart to go give him a friendly hug when his eyes fall to your stomach. Despite being shocked, he returns the small hug and introduces you to his ‘girlfriend’ Emily. “Nice to meet you,” you return to her with a kind smile. Immediately he stares back your stomach and you both speak simultaneously. “Peña’s.” His coming out more as a question, while yours is a statement. You both awkwardly smile and nod before you speak again. “So what are you doing in Miami?” you ask him, placing your hands on your hips. His eyes widen and he bashfully smiles. “After that last incident I uh,” he hesitates, licking his lips. Emily grabs onto his bicep, urging him to continue. “I got a promotion to be the lead Admin for Miami’s recruitment agency.” Your stomach burns with acid as you remember the last time you spoke to Martinez. He had outed your relationship with Javi to the Columbian Admin. He almost had you sent home. He’s partially to blame for Javiers suspension. Now, he was running Miami’s recruitment agency for DEA agents, while Javi - who had done the most work to catch Escobar - was stuck with an assignment to Mexico?

Your face heats up as your expression falls. You want to punch Martinez in the fucking face, but you bite your tongue. There is weighted silence before he quickly changes the subject, sensing your anger. “What about you?” He asks. Your teeth run rapidly against your tongue before you sprout a fake smile. “Yeah, uh,” your head is spinning. Making it hard for you to even concentrate on his question. “I’m transferring to the Miami agency as an assistant.” He looks down at your stomach again, almost demanding an explanation. “Javier is uh, heading to Mexico on an assignment.” “While you’re pregnant?” He cuts you off, brows furrowing together in confusion.

“Yep,” you try to grin but he can see the pain in your expression. “He asked for a transfer to Miami and the Admin had agreed to Mexico, Columbia, or retirement.” You finish. Your eyes don’t move from his as he searches your face and down to your frame. “That’s - ridiculous.” He almost whispers. His eyes look back to yours with genuine hurt. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen this side of Martinez. “She’s going to force him into retirement because he’s having a baby?” He re-confirms. The reminder sends painful zaps of electricity through your body. It’s something you’ve been putting off for the last four weeks, and talking to Martinez served as nothing but a wake up call to your harsh, impending reality. “That’s basically it, yeah.” you sigh. “I should, probably head back though,” You smile, grabbing the last item on your list and placing it in the cart. “Of course,” he half smiles, pain still in his expression. As nice as it was to see him being genuine to you, you still couldn’t stand the pity. When you get back, seeing Javi smiling and laughing with your mother makes you keep your mouth shut. You can’t bring yourself to tell him how great everything was working out for fucking Martinez. You just wanted to forget even running into him in the first place. ________ And just like that, the two weeks with your mother come to an end. Your boxes that Steve shipped from Columbia arrived within your last week and you watch as Javi packs them into your rental car.

Your mother stands at the front steps facing you. Her hands cup the sides of your cheeks as she stares at your face. For some reason, you feel awkward. She has hardly ever been this way with you. Not since you were a little girl. “Thank you for having us,” you grin.

She pushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear as Javi makes his way to the front steps. Your eyes narrow into your mothers as her face molds into a delicate smile. “You’re going to be a great mom,” she almost whispers. Tears welling into her waterline. You haven’t seen her cry since she found out about your dad’s affair. Seeing her like that immediately heats your cheeks and creates your own tears - for the millionth time this month. “Mom, I.” You can’t even finish your sentence before she pulls you into her. Embracing you so tight. This was the first time in years since she had given you a sincere compliment. Her lips kiss your cheek fast and hard and she whispers in your ear. “You call me if you need anything, okay?” You finally pull away and your fingers push the tears away before they fall. You nod to her and turn your attention to Javi who stands below you, watching with a smile on his face. You had no idea that this interaction with your mother had been because of him and he went on never disclosing that to you. Your mother sniffs away her tears and sticks her arms out to him.

“Javier,” she mumbles, overly emotional. They share a tight hug before he pulls back and kisses her hand in his. “We’ll see you soon, huh?” he asks, giving her a quick wink. She nods as she watches you both drive off the property and towards the city. _________________

Things around the rental grow tense as you’re two days away from Javier’s departure to Mexico. You both tread carefully around one another. Almost unnatural.

And you hate it. That night you rub lotion on your belly, sitting up in bed as Javier exits the bathroom, shirtless after brushing his teeth. You watch his golden skin in the dim light of your bedside lamp, as he sits along the edge of the bed. Your eyes trace into the curves of his back as he stares at the pack of cigarettes on his side table. He hasn’t been smoking inside or around you, always sneaking outside to do it. Too concerned for how the inhalation could affect you or his baby. You shift as you watch his fingers tap the surface of the sheets, fantasizing about those hands. It’s been since the ranch. Too long. You set aside the bottle of lotion and crawl over to him, placing little soft kisses along his shoulder to the back of his neck.

fuck, he smells so good.

“What’s up, cariño?” he asks, his head twisted to look at you, his eyebrow raising. “What do you mean ‘what’s up?’ can’t I just kiss my boyfriend?” you tease him. His eyes close and he huffs out a laugh. You grab his hand and he shifts to sit facing you. You place his hand to your chest where your heart beats softly. Javi looks at you with hooded eyes, before looking down at where you’ve placed his palm. You both sit in silence before he croaks out. “I don’t want to go.” The words are so simple, yet so desperate. It was like this whole time, he thought he could be strong.

“I know,” you mumble softly. “I don’t want you to go either.”

His hand moves from your chest to your cheek. His thumb caressing your warm skin before he leans in. He plants a soft and slow kiss to your lips. His eyes opening to look at you. The difference between his suspension leave and these two months in Mexico was the elephant in the room; the fact that he could die out there. Both of you too nervous to even speak about that. “I know that we haven’t known each other that long,” he starts. By the direction he’s going, you know what he’s leaning towards. “But I don’t want to leave without telling you that I,” Your heart starts to pick up it’s pace and your mouth parts. “Javi, don’t.” You cut him off. His face falls before you have a chance to continue. “No, I just mean,” you giggle to yourself. Your hand reaching up to grab his from your cheek. “I don’t want you to say it because you’re leaving.” Your big doe eyes look into his and a montage plays out in his head. Back to the first time he saw you. How you got that pebble stuck in those heels you always wore. How excited you were about that jacuzzi bathtub in your apartment, the first time he fell asleep next to you and how that’s all he ever thought about. If he only knew then, how hard he would have fallen for you in such a short time. “I don’t want you to say it like this.” You repeat.

He nods and you both crawl into the same position you’ve always slept in. But Javi doesn’t sleep. He stays awake, propped up on his elbow and watching you. The way your eyes flutter and your mouth parts slightly, letting out the cutest little noises. ______

Before you know it, the sun is rising through the large window of your small rental property. You groan as you roll over to face Javi’s bare back next to you in bed. Your fingers come up to delicately rub circles into his back, smiling at how goosebumps raise along his smooth, tanned skin. He groans as he rolls over to face you, burrowing his head in your neck. “Just a few more hours,” he huffs. His warm breath making your body tingle. You giggle in response. “It’s already 10AM, we don’t want to waste your second last day in bed, do we?” You hum, your fingers massaging his scalp through his messy hair. He groans again. “Don’t remind me.”

You lay there propped on your elbow as Javi almost falls back asleep. Your hands move from his scalp to his ear, pinching his lobe to wake him.

“I’m up.” He argues, head still burrowed between your neck and the pillow. The satellite phone laying on Javi’s bedside table beeps multiple times. Taking his attention away from you. He turns over annoyed and looks at the small screen, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion and concern. He sits up fast and you sit beside him, nervous. You’re unable to hear the other person on the line as you grip the blankets. Your eyes dart around his face, listening to him speak. “Good Morning Ma’am,” Javi’s tone immediately taking on more professionalism. The Admin

He waits for her to speak more, his expression hesitant as his fingers fidget with the blankets too. “He what?” He says, his breaths becoming short and his eyes widening. You shift to sit in front of him, your stomach roars with anxiety that could have you in the bathroom for hours. “I don’t understand, why would he want me?” He replies to whatever she has said.

His other hand comes up to run his fingers through his messy hair. His eyes finally landing on yours. “I see,” he mumbles. “How soon do I start?” he asks, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth as he stares at you. Your face changes, emitting waves of relief.

“That sounds good. Thank you ma’am.” He hangs up fast and slowly places the phone back down. His actions take forever, as he’s still too stunned at whatever it was that was being discussed. “What is it?” you ask, your wide eyes searching for some hint of context to the conversation. “That was the Admin. I,” He licks his lips. “I got offered a position in Miami.” his words catch in the back of his throat. Your breath hitches and you don’t say anything, your whole body lighting on fire. Your hands sweating. “For when?” you manage, through the heartbeat in your ears.

“Starting tomorrow,” he mumbles. You both sit in silence before smiles come across your faces. You expected to both be jumping for joy, but instead there is a stillness hanging heavy in the air. It feels as though the world around you has slowed to a stop as you both sit here in bed, in your own little bubble.

“So you’re staying?” you ask, your voice shaking. He doesn’t answer your question. Instead he explains the call. “She told me to report for my new position as Senior Recruitment Officer for the Miami division.” Your eyes widen and your mouth parts when it clicks.

“Says I have to report to my supervisor on Monday,” he looks at you and you both speak in unison. “Martinez.”

As soon as his name leaves you mouthes, you’re standing on the bed and jumping up and down, releasing all kinds of noises in pure happiness.

Javi’s laughing as he watches you. Finally getting winded you fall to your knees, heavy breathing.

He came through, fucking Martinez came through. “He apparently told her that he owes me one.” He laughs in disbelief.

You smile wide at Javi, tears welling up in both of you. His hands cup your face and he brings you in for an aggressive, celebratory kiss. As soon as he pulls away, you both rest forehead to forehead, out of breath. “I love you,” he murmurs, so softly that it almost doesn’t register. You watch as a single tear falls from his eye and he laughs pathetically. “I fucking love you.” ____________3 MONTHS LATER_______________

“One more big push for us, come on,” you hear the doctor tell you amongst the pain ripping through your body. Your death grip on Javi’s hand has his eyes widening in concern. “You can do it baby, come on,” he mumbles as his other hand moves the sweat covered hairs from your forehead. “Ugh, I fucking HATE YOU!” You scream, staring him in the eye as you give one more big push. Then you hear it. The cries of your baby taking their first breath outside of you.

Javiers face softens as he watches the doctor hold up the baby before handing it to the nurse. “A baby girl!” the doctor exclaims. You’re both sure he’s happy to be done with the 16 hours of labour. “Does daddy want to cut the cord?” the nurse asks, a smile evident through her mask. Javi just laughs through his flowing tears. Without saying anything he nods and clips the umbilical cord.

You pant in a daze, your head falling back against the pillow. He watches for a moment as they clean the baby off, before leaning down next to your face. You connect your hands and you turn your head face him, breathless.

“You fuckin’ did it, baby.” He chuckles, tears staining both your faces. You give an exhausted smile and he kisses your forehead, then the top of your hand he’s been holding. Soon they place the little girl in your arms, wrapped in a hospital blanket. Her little body wiggling as she makes a bunch of unimpressed faces. The minute you see her you start to sob. This made everything worth it. She made everything worth it.

Javi’s eyes well up some more as his strong hand comes to gently touch her small little body. “You were a girl this whole time,” you giggle out through your tears. Her small body shifts some more, her face calming at the sound of your voice. Javi leans over you still, placing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I knew it,” he whispers, his eyes unable to leave his daughters.

You sniffle as your finger caresses the side of her small little cheek. “What should we call her?” you ask, turning to look at Javi. His eyes don’t leave his baby. “Eva,” he mumbles. “It means ‘life.’” His voice so steady and sure. “Because she gave mine purpose." You turn back to the baby and your hand lays on top of his, along her small, warm body. “How about, Eva Maria.” you say, your eyes moving to his face again, for approval. His brows pull together in slight anguish. He looks intently at you, almost as a thank you, before you both turn back to your baby. Once you’re settled in your hospital room and through with all the checks and guidance given by the nurses, you and Javi lay cuddled up together as Eva sleeps soundly on your chest. “Should we count all her toes again?” he asks, quietly. You giggle as you look up at him. “I think she’s got all ten.” You tell him as her little hands grip Javi’s index finger.

You both sit in silence, staring down at her before he speaks again. “She’s so tiny.” You both smile and your finger runs along her small little button nose. She shifts a bit, her arms coming to the sides of her face before she settles back down. It was like nothing else in the world mattered. Every piece of the puzzle had finally fit together the minute you heard Eva cry. This was definitely heaven. You watch Javi admiring his baby as you think back to the last 3 months. How you couldn’t say it back. How he never rushed you to either. He was always so patient. Loving every part of you, even in the roughest of weather. “I love you too,” you whisper to him. Taking his attention off of Eva to look at you. His smile speaks volumes as he pulls you in for a deep kiss. He pulls back, his breath hot on your lips. “What took you so long?” ____________________________ Taglist:

@djarinxore @notsosecretspy @pedropascalsidechick @soaringcloud @aestheticangel612 @wakaladjarin @pedritos-pumpkin @cosmicmoonchildsplanet03 @bimbofairynextdoor @cyberrpixies @fallenfairydust @partyofone3413 @lavenderkee @littlevenicebitch69 @icant-hangout-imdrumming @got1arrow4that @pedr0swh0r3 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @mxtokko @letsgroovetonighttt @bbgem329 @beboldbebravethings @phoenixinthewater @cowboychickenlittle @lucreziazaninelli @kirsteng42 @prettyinpunk85 @leeeesahhh @girlbossnancy @sarah-10 @jaded222 @jlouw646 @sadbloatedegg @ievutebebe @spookyxsam @sagggy @lordvelma @fatimaisabelpascal @cordycepcowboy @fhatbhabie @caatheeriinee07 @harriedandharassed @manuymesut

If I missed anyone, please refill-out my taglist form🩵

556 notes View Post

mirimim

2 years ago

Ni Ceta, Cyar'ika

Dark!Din Djarin x Jedi!Female Reader

Warnings: corruption arc, murder, death of minor character (i don't wanna spoil it but I wanna make sure no one is caught off guard. it's axe woves), possessive behavior, loss and anxiety, light smut, mentions of being intimate

Word Count: 7,842

Summary: Din Djarin is a man who lost everything. His home, his son, his Creed. But at the end of the day, he still had you. He still had you, and he was determined to keep you.

[a/n: if dark fics aren't your forte, don't worry this isn't super dark. well, not as dark as i originally planned to go. more psychological horror than physical]

"i denied death for you. and i'd die for you again. kill for you. i'd tear the stars down from the heavens to fashion you a crown. you are my heart. my queen. i'd do anything and everything you ask me."

-Jay Kristoff

Looking back, you had no chance of not falling in love with Din Djarin. Even despite having plenty of reasons not to. You were on the run from the Empire, trying to keep a padawan safe from them. He was hired to collect said padawan as a bounty. He was a Mandalorian. You were a Jedi. Needless to say, the odds had been stacked against you both, but falling for him was the simplest thing in all the worlds.

You had a lot of reason not to, sure, but you also had no chance in avoiding it. Not with the way he put you and Grogu above everything else⏤ even himself. Not with the way he balanced trusting you to hold your own in a fight versus protecting you when you were overwhelmed. Not with the way his hand would softly brush against you as if he wanted so badly to touch you but thought himself unworthy. Not with the way his hoarse voice whispered your name in the softest concern and care.

Never before had you put any belief in the concept of soulmates, it seemed silly, but after meeting Din you weren’t so sure. The two of you seemed made to fit one another. Complement. Make the other stronger, better. The way you both understood one another, the care and love that came so easily… It was as if you loved him in another life. Like the two of you were destined to find one another in every lifetime. Made of the same stardust and shaped by the galaxy itself.

You loved Din Djarin. You loved him so damn much, and it made watching him crumble that much harder.

“Din.” You mumbled. Boba had swooped back to pick the lot of you up after the successful rescue mission. Though calling it successful seemed…bittersweet. Grogu was safe, but Grogu was gone. You wandered closer to where Din sat in a chair. He had isolated himself the moment you all boarded the ship. He was slumped over, elbows on his knees, and head hanging down. You knelt down by his side and squeezed his arm. “Hey. I wanted to check on you.” Din nodded, but stayed silent. His helmet stayed facing down, away from you, and it broke your heart to see him so devastated. “Tell me what you need, baby. I can stay or I can give you some space.”

Again, Din did not respond, but he turned his arm just enough to grasp you by the hand. You gave it a slight squeeze and just stayed there. For the rest of the flight neither of you moved. You knew Din felt like he couldn't complain. Grogu was safe with Skywalker, set to train and harness his gifts. Softly, you reassured him that whatever he was feeling was alright. He stayed silent.

Boba and Fennec’s goal was to reach Tatooine so you and Din tagged along. It wasn’t far. You all got there in a matter of hours and when you parted ways, Boba encouraged you or Din to call him if anything was ever needed. It didn’t take long for you to get a room at an inn.

That night in bed you held Din close. The room had been darkened so even if you did open your eyes all you could see was his silhouette. He loved you with soft touches and thankful whispers, and when the both of you were spent and exhausted Din collapsed into you. Typically, he liked being the big spoon. Din loved wrapping his body around yours, all encompassing, as if he needed to protect you even in sleep. However, tonight, Din clung to your side⏤ an arm draped over your waist as he laid his head on your bare chest. You held him close, raking a hand through his hair tenderly.

The room was filled with quiet breaths, and when Din spoke his voice was so hushed that you nearly missed it.

“Don’t leave me, cyar'ika.” He seemed to beg. “I can’t lose you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You said firmly. Holding onto him tighter. You continued to whisper promises of staying by his side long after he fell asleep.

Din wanted to find the covert. That was what he told you he needed. You had no qualms with that. You wanted to do whatever you had to in order to help him find some semblance of normal. Coruscant was not one of your favorite places in the galaxy, but you’d walk through hell as long as Din was by your side. As you followed him, his eyes tracking signs and clues you couldn’t see, your own gaze continued to drift to the saber hanging from Din’s belt. His newest acquisition.

Ages ago, when it had been time to build your own lightsaber, the kyber crystal you chose had really chosen you. Everybody had certain strengths, even within the Force, and yours was reading energies. Your kyber crystal seemed to sing to you. The energy it gave was warmth. It was protective. It was loyal. Building your lightsaber had been a time honored tradition you treasured. Having it hang from your hip was something you did not take lightly. It gave you strength.

The energy coming from the darksaber felt…wrong. It was hard to put into words. It was muted to you, as if trying to hide, but still the darksaber seemed to weep a negative energy into the air itself. You didn’t like it, but you had no significant reasoning why other than ‘it feels bad’.

When the two of you reached the covert, Din was adamant about you coming in with him. Even when you told him you thought it was a bad idea, he still tangled his hand in yours and dragged you in. Just as you thought the other two Mandalorians there were unhappy with seeing you. In part because of the lightsaber on your hip, but more so because you were not their kind. You were not Mandalorian. Auretii. That’s what the Armorer called you. An outsider. It wasn’t inaccurate.

The interaction started bad and only got worse.

Paz Vizsla challenged Din for the darksaber, a man you knew that Din considered to be a brother even despite rough disagreements in the past, and watching Din use the saber sent a chill down your spine. It was too heavy in his hands, and with every swing the blade was more difficult for Din to use. You could see it in his stride. You didn’t know how to explain it⏤ it was always difficult to explain the way an energy felt to you⏤ but the saber was fighting. It was annoyed.

Din won the battle.

“Din Djarin, have you ever removed your helmet?” The silence that followed the question broke your heart. “Have you ever removed your helmet?” You felt useless watching Din endure this pain. It was the same watching Skywalker carry Grogu away. You were a witness to his suffering. “By Creed, you must vow.”

“I have.”

“Then, you are a Mandalorian no more.”

The walk back into the depths of Coruscant was silent and painful. You slipped your hand into his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. I’m here. I’m not leaving. You will not lose me. Din returned the squeeze, but the pain was radiating off him in palpable waves. A feeling washed over you and your eyes darted to Din’s hip where the saber rested. Smug. It felt smug.

The two of you walked into the covert as Mandalorian and Jedi, but left as Apostate and Aruetti.

You had the opinion that Din never got to properly mourn the loss of the Razor Crest. With everything going on at the time, it seemed like the least of the problems you both had. However, it's loss was felt now. Even in the short time you spent with Din and Grogu, the ship had become a place of comfort. For Din, the Crest had been all he had for so long⏤ it was his home. It held all his belongings and in a singular second it was all gone.

That aching wound was constantly festering, but when the two of you were forced to ride in public ships to get from world to world you could tell it stung Din the most. That’s how you’d have to get off Coruscant, but a small victory came in the form of a message from Peli.

“Din, you’re not gonna believe this.” You grinned as he returned from whatever errand he had to do. “Peli has a possible Razor Crest replacement. She just messaged me. If we can just get to⏤”

“No.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but Din took you by the hand and began to travel the opposite way of the small inn you were staying in. “What?”

“I found a ship. Here. Already purchased it.”

Surprise washed over you. “Wait.” You tried to get him to stop and look at you, but Din seemed like a man on a mission. “You bought it already? Without even asking me?”

“It was my credits.”

The words stung. It was so dismissive. Nothing like the way Din usually spoke to you. He always discussed big decisions with you, just as you did with him. The two of you were a team. Through and through. Din seemed to sense your displeasure and his steps faltered.

“Cyar'ika, ni ceta.” Din murmured. You recognized the apology. He turned and settled a hand on the side of your face. “I…I don’t know what came over me. I suppose I was just excited.”

“It’s…” You lifted a hand to cup the one tenderly caressing your cheek. Din had just lost his Creed. The cornerstone of his existence. Of course, he’d be short. You’d be more worried if he wasn’t showing signs of being upset. You gave him a tight lipped smile. “No, I’m sorry. Are you alright? How do you feel?” Din didn’t respond. “Baby?”

He shook his head, his voice quiet. “I’m just ready to be off world.”

“I understand.” You gave him a smile. “Show us our new home then.”

Din let out a small chuckle and you took that as a victory. He led you to a yard of ships and pointed out a black ship with burgundy accents. It was nothing special. It wasn’t the Razor Crest. However, it had enough space for the both of you.

“This is nice.” You explored the cargo hold.

“It’ll do.” Din countered.

You jumped when you heard the ramp closing and as Din passed you to get to the cockpit, he set his hand on your lower back to take you with him. As you settled in the passenger seat, you watched as Din familiarized himself with the control panel. When the ship reached the atmosphere, you leaned forward.

“Hey, maybe we should go see Peli anyways. Say hello.” You suggested. “She can look the ship over and tell us if we need anything…” Peli would just rip you off, but she was a familiar face. Boba and Fennec were on Tatooine as well. You thought Din could use more than just you. A reminder that he had more in his life than he thought. “Din?”

“No.” Din replied. He placed in a set of coordinates and you recognized them to be Nevarro. Well, maybe that would work. Karga was there. Cara too. Last you heard, Mayfeld was kicking around the newest establishment. The ship slipped into hyperspace and Din held a hand out to you. When you took it he yanked you toward him and you fell onto his lap. “We’re needed in Nevarro. Karga.”

He said it as if the name was enough. Before you could ask for further clarification, Din was tossing his gloves aside. He hit a button that shaded the windows, dimming the room till it was nearly impossible to see then he whispered to close your eyes. It was natural for you to do just as he asked. His hands grasped at your hips, pulling you down to grind against your core, and a pair of lips began to leave open mouth kisses along your neck.

“Cyar'ika…” Din breathed as he wrestled your shirt off you. Rough and desperate. Yanking your breast band off with it. The moment you were bare to the chilly air of the cockpit, Din’s hot mouth wrapped around one of your nipples, teeth grazing sensitive skin, and you moaned. Din pulled away and you already missed his mouth. “Need you. Need all of you.”

Din loved you with rough hands and frantic begging. When the two of you were spent, breathless and sweaty, you slumped against his body. Din trailed his hands up and down your spine as if he couldn’t fathom not touching you.

“I can’t lose you.” He murmured in your ear. “Not you, cyar'ika.”

“You won’t.” You reassured him. “You won’t lose me.”

The reason Din stopped in Nevarro, stopped to see Karga, was for bounty pucks. You had never seen him take so many at once and he said less than ten words to the High Magistrate of Nevarro before dragging you back to the ship.

A distraction. You convinced yourself. It was just a distraction.

Din needed something to keep his mind busy and what better than bounty hunting? As long as you were there to keep an eye on him, make sure he’s cared for, then everything would be alright. It might take time, but it would be okay. That’s what you told yourself. Over and over and over. You wondered if the reassurance was more for your benefit.

The first couple of bounties went normal, but slowly things began to feel…different. Wrong. The quarries Din brought in were more often cold than warm these days. He seemed to be favoring the darksaber as well. It had gone from a weapon used as a last resort to one of his regulars. Din got better with the weapon after every quarry, and the saber’s energy felt like it was singing. As wrong as it all felt, Din seemed himself still. In fact, he almost seemed closer to his normal self. The aching sadness and mourning wasn’t so present.

“Din?” You called out from where you sat at the small table. Rather than staying on the new ship, the two of you had rented a room at a local inn. It put you closer to where the current quarry was hiding. “You in the mood for something specific? For dinner, I mean?” Din had stepped into the bathroom to clean up and still had yet to come out. “Baby?”

Concern began to take root, but the door opened and you felt it slip away only to be replaced by shock. A stranger in familiar armor stood in the doorway. Din. Din was helmetless. You quickly shut your eyes with a curse. Heavy footfalls crossed the room to stand in front of you and you felt Din’s warm hands on your cheeks.

“Cyar'ika, look at me.”

“Din, what are you doing?” You gasped. It had been nearly two months since the covert, but even then he kept his helmet on. Never took it off. You didn’t understand what had suddenly changed now so suddenly. “I⏤”

“I want you to see me.”

“But⏤ But, why now?”

Din’s thumbs were tracing your cheek and he wouldn’t answer your question. He murmured again for you to open your eyes and you hesitantly peeked through your lashes. Din stood towering above you. From where you sat, you had to look up to admire his features. His appearance was never important to you. You fell in love with the soul inside that armor. Din always swore you’d see his face one day, but the context would be different. He’d whisper about a future together as you both laid tangled in bed.

He was handsome. Strong features, pretty dark brown eyes, scruff along his jaw. And his hair, you were finally able to see the dark slightly loose curls that you’d run your fingers through. You slowly stood and lifted a hand to trace his features.

“Am… Am I okay?” Din asked.

The phrasing of the question was odd and it took you a moment to garner a guess. You cupped his face with a broad smile. “You’re more than okay. You’re perfect. Maker, it’s kind of not fair how handsome you are.” You kept your tone teasing and Din chuckled. The sight of his smile warmed your chest. “What brought this on?”

“I am an Apostate.” Din said firmly and you felt your own smile falter. His dark brown eyes stayed locked onto yours and though they held the depth and soul you always knew they would there was something else there. “I am no longer Mandalorian. Why should I hide my face any longer?”

“Din…” You mumbled. Concern leaking into your voice. This was quite the huge and sudden leap to make. “You⏤”

He leaned in and pressed a light kiss against your lips. The kiss turned deeper as Din began to devour you. Needy and wanting. Desperate. Soon he had you picked up into his arms so he could slam you against the wall. It always felt like Din craved you⏤ that wasn’t in debate. Right now though, he was like a man starved. As if he had never had never had you before and was worried he’d never have you again.

Din loved you like a man possessed. Pressed between him and the wall he was unrelenting. Still, held tight by the man you were in love with, Din moaned and begged for you to stay with him. He didn’t even pause to let you reassure him. Just praised the way you felt and pleaded for you to be his.

There was something wrong with Din.

As you sat in the dingy alley, panting heavily from your near death experience, that was the first thought to occur to you. A hunt had gone wrong. One of the quarry’s allies had gotten the jump on you. You had taken a few hits, saw an opening to save yourself, but before you even had a chance the goon was being ripped off of you. Din had saved you, but it didn’t feel like being saved from where you sat.

Din had ripped the man off you and rather than use the darksaber he chose to beat the goon bloody with his hands. Blood splattered in the alley, on his otherwise spotless armor, and you found yourself trembling. The man who had been attacking you was long dead, but Din did not stop. His face was twisted in rage and hate. You called out his name, more than once, and eventually he paused in his onslaught to catch his breath. His chest was heaving from exertion and you could tear your eyes away from the red that stained his silver beskar.

Slowly, Din rose and stalked toward you. For a brief moment, you didn’t recognize Din. You didn’t know the stranger towering over you. He knelt down and reached out to cup the side of your face. The hot blood of the man Din had slaughtered smeared across your cheek. You could feel it and it sent a chill of fear down your spine. The hate began to dissipate from his eyes. There was a softness you recognized now, but for the first time you’d describe Din as hollow.

“Are you okay, cyar'ika?” He breathed. You nodded nervously. Din grabbed you by the arms and pulled you to stand. He let out a sigh of relief and wrapped you into a tight hug. He pressed you against his blood stained armor and laid his head on top of yours. Din shook his head, a shaky breath slipping from his lips, “I won’t lose you. I can’t lose you. No one will take you from me. I swear it, cyar'ika.”

Relief and love radiated from Din, but all you could feel was the humming possessive energy that the darksaber blasted into the air around you both.

The sensation of dropping out of hyperspace woke you up. You blinked and reached out to a cold bed. Din had gotten up and was now dropping you out of hyperspace? You pushed up and slid out of bed. You found Din in the cockpit and the sight of an unfamiliar world hung in view just outside the ship.

“Where are we?”

“Mandalore.”

You sat down in the passenger seat and grabbed Din by the knee forcing him to set the ship to drift and turn to face you. “What the kriff do you mean Mandalore?” Din didn’t respond. He leaned back in his seat and just stared at you. You were still trying to get used to seeing him without his helmet. Din rarely wore it these days. Even in a fight. “Din.”

“We’re meeting allies here.”

“For what?!”

“We’re recovering our home.”

Din was answering the questions as if you were being ridiculous for even asking them. As if you had been privy to this knowledge. Frustration made your temper flare. “Din, are you serious!?” He didn’t react and somehow that was worse. “We need to talk.”

“Then talk.”

Things had only gotten worse with Din. You were scared of what he was capable, but never in relation to you. No matter how cold his eyes grew, no matter how lost in got in a brutal fight, no matter how bitter the darksaber made the air, you knew Din wouldn’t hurt you. That knowledge was ingrained in your very soul. What worried you⏤ what kept you awake at night⏤ was your worry for Din. He always said he couldn’t lose you, but it felt like you were the one losing him.

“Baby.” You murmured and rose to take a seat in his lap innocently. Just trying to get closer to him. You cupped his face and at your contact the cold, distant look in his eyes briefly cracked. Din stared up at you in adoration and love. “I’m… I’m scared.”

Din furrowed his brow and sat up. His arms wrapped around your waist. “Don’t be. You never have to be scared. I’m never going to let anything hurt you.”

“No, Din, that’s not what I’m scared of.” You replied. “I’m scared for you. I’m worried about you.”

“I’ve never been better, cyar’ika.”

You raked a hand through his hair trying to convey every ounce of passion you felt for him in the simple motion. “Din… I’ve been wanting to say this for some time.” You shook your head. “The darksaber.” There was a flash of something unrecognizable in his gaze, but you pressed onward. “It’s… dangerous. You know when I told you about my lightsaber. It’s energy.” He nodded. “The darksaber gives off an energy too, and I don’t like it.”

“What do you mean?” Din asked.

“It feels like,” You winced and struggled for a description to match, “poison. Din, baby, it feels like poison.” Din shook his head as if he still could not understand what it was you were trying to say. “I think it’s a bad influence.”

Din scoffed but the curl of his lips made it seem like he wasn’t taking your statement seriously. “Cyar’ika, it’s a sword. It can’t influence me.”

“It’s not just a sword, Din. It has a kyber crystal in it and⏤”

“Are you trying to tell me I need to get rid of it?” He pressed. You gave a small nod. “I can’t. I need it.” You opened your mouth to argue, but his arms tightened around you. “If we’re going to take Mandalore back, recover it, then I have to use the darksaber. Be Mandalor.”

Your eyes widened. “Since when did you want that title??”

“But more importantly, I need it to protect you.” He whispered, ignoring your question entirely. Din leaned his forehead against yours and the touch was so soft and reverent that you shuddered. He took in a slow deep breath. “You are my priority. Always. The darksaber grants me the power to keep you safe.”

You pressed a tender kiss to his lips and Din’s breath hitched. As you spoke, you kept your lips close enough to brush against his with every word. “You never needed it before. And I’m not helpless. You know that.” Din closed his eyes and you dragged your fingers through his scruff. “We were fine without the darksaber. We don’t need it.”

Din leaned in to capture your lips with his. For the first time in a very long time, the kiss was slow and patient. He took his time tasting you and he leaned back to allow your hands to travel and explore him. It was so reminiscent of the days before everything fell apart that you almost cried.

Eventually, he pulled back and focused his heavy gaze on you. Din gave you a small smile, a hand tracing your jawline. “No, cyar’ika. The saber stays.” Your own smile faltered and fell. He left one last chaste kiss on your lips. “I love you. I will protect you.”

Your life on Mandalore was odd. Din left you out of the loop of everything. All you knew was that more and more Mandalorians arrived by the day to follow Din Djarin. It didn’t surprise you. The Din you knew and loved was a natural born leader whether he liked it or not. He had a magnetic draw to him. You didn’t see that side to your Din very much anymore.

The city around you was slowly being rebuilt and you pondered your next move. Two months you had been on this rock seeing Din from a distance. Watching him turn into someone you didn’t recognize. When the palace was reestablished, a sentence you found obnoxious and ridiculous, Din moved you there to stay. He’d work all day, drift into your shared bedroom at night, and you mourned the days where everything was easier. Simple.

“Cyar’ika.”

You glanced over your shoulder to see the Mandalor approaching. The king of this world looked like Din, still stared at you as if you hung the moon and stars, but all you could see was the darksaber. It’s possessive energy clung to the man you loved. Two Mandalorian guards followed behind him, and you briefly admired the thick, fur lined cape that hung off one shoulder.

Din came to a stop in front of you and motioned to himself with a sheepish smile, “What do you think?”

“Very regal, Mandalor.” You teased softly.

Din drifted closer and took your hands in his. “Ni ceta, cyar’ika.” He mumbled. “I know I haven’t been around.”

“You’ve been busy. I get it.” You shrugged and tried to keep the bitterness out of your voice.

“But you come first. You always come first.” Din said firmly. “Things will be better from here on out. We’re stable. We’re established. And… I have a surprise for you.” Nervously, Din lifted your hands to tenderly press a kiss to them. “I have no right to ask, but will you give me your time today.”

It was so sweet. It was so Din. You were too overwhelmed to do anything but nod. Things could always turn around, you told yourself. All your time here, distanced from Din, you had planned. He needed a little exposure to his old life. You were the only person Din kept. Maybe seeing Boba and Fennec, seeing Peli, seeing Karga, seeing anyone would bring him back to the surface more permanently. You had even wanted to get in touch with Skywalker or Ahsoka to plan some kind of visit. If Din could see Grogu, you had no doubt he’d snap back into reality. He’d set aside the darksaber. The issue was, Mandalore still had thick storm clouds that prevented any outside interference or messaging.

You felt isolated.

Din looped your arm through his and you walked by his side down the long hallway. You weren’t sure where he was taking you quite yet, but he spoke casually about his day and asked about yours with real interest. His smile was so warm and sincere that you could almost ignore the negative energy that damned saber gave off.

“Where are we going?” You asked as Din turned down a hall you knew would lead outside. “If we go out, I’m gonna need to grab my jacket.” Mandalore’s seasons still confused you and it almost seemed like the previous attacks had thrown the natural order out of balance. Lately, it had been rather cold.

“It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you.” Din chuckled. He paused by the doors and you couldn’t help but glance at the two silent Mandalorian guards still standing near. Movement made you glance back in time to see he had shrugged out of his thick robe. Din settled the heavy article on your shoulders and you were surprised by the warmth it encased you in. “Comfortable?”

You nodded with a small smile. The robe smelled like him. Din captured your face in his gloved hands and you gazed up at him in awe. Din was in a good mood. It had been so long since you saw him like this. Light hearted. Excited. “Are you happy?” The question fell from your lips before you could even think.

“Of course.” Din replied quickly. His tone suggested he was surprised you’d ask. “I have you.”

“You’ve always had me.” You mumbled.

Din’s face faltered, only for a second, before he bowed his head to rest on yours. Forehead to forehead. “Ni ceta.” He breathed the apology out sincerely. “I know things have been hard and…you’ve put up with so much. I’m so thankful for you, cyar’ika, and my greatest regret will always be making you question that.”

“I never questioned it.” You lifted a hand to place on top of his own. “I love you, and I know you love me. I’ve just…been worried about you, baby. I want you to be happy.”

“I am.” Din replied. “You make me happy.” He closed the space to press his lips to yours. Tender. Loving. Passionate. Din’s tongue traced the curve of your lower lip and you allowed him to deepen the kiss. Your hands shifted to tangle in his hair. Din pulled you closer, flush against his body, and it didn’t even matter to you that two other Mandalorians stood off to the side as witness to this scene. Din pulled back, separating the two of you, but he quickly set two more chaste kisses against your lips as if he couldn't bear the thought of being apart. Din whispered a promise under his breath. “For the rest of my life, I will make you happy. I’ll keep you safe.”

You had endured the hell of watching Din suffer and begin to lose himself in sorrow. Perhaps, this was the light at the end of the tunnel. Din had found stable ground, and he was now returning to a man you recognized.

Din turned away to push open the doors, but he kept your arm looped through his. The courtyard which typically sat unused and in a semi state of shambles had been cleaned and polished. Mandalorians as far as you could see stood waiting and as Din walked you down the path you spotted a medium sized platform, nearly a stage, and on it was a chair⏤ no, a throne. That was the only word to describe the heavy, dark metal seat. Standing on the platform, you recognized Bo Katan. She stood on one side of the throne. On the other side stood two others that you recognized, you had seen them with Din often, but you didn’t know their names.

“Din?” You whispered his name.

He shot you a smile but continued on. Suddenly, you found yourself on the platform standing beside Din as he faced the crowd. He lifted one hand, as if in greeting, and you stared at him as he spoke Mando’a. His voice was loud and firm. Powerful. This was a king among men. You never thought Din Djarin of all people would look like he belonged in this setting. You knew he had the attributes that would make a fair and just king, but Din had never enjoyed the spotlight. The future he craved, the future he painted while speaking to you in the dead of night, was a humble one. A home, some land, a family. Peaceful.

A bark of Mando’a, in a voice you vaguely recognized, interrupted Din and you watched as his shoulders stiffened. The crowd parted and a Mandalorin in dark blue armor approached. Axe Woves. That was his name you believed. You didn’t know what he was saying, but you could feel the tension in the air.

Din set his hand on your waist and pushed you back. You only stumbled back a few steps before Bo Katan took you by the elbow and dragged you back further.

“What⏤ What is going on?” You asked.

“Challenge.” Bo Katan said. Din drew the darksaber from his belt and as it came to life you felt your own heart plummet. It’s poison was spewing in the air⏤ suffocating you. Smug. Arrogant. Angry. Insulted. You sucked in a sharp breath. “Axe Woves has challenged Din for the darksaber. For rule.”

The fight started in a clash of weaponry.

It was a blur of beskar, but all your eyes could focus on was the arc of the darksaber. The burning glow that was now seared into your eyes. Seared into your brain. You wanted nothing more than to take that damned thing and throw it into the darkest pit you could find. Every time you watched Din used it, you hated it all the more. The fight did not last long.

Axe Woves was a good fighter, but he was not Din Djarin.

Soon, the air was silent as Din held the edge of the darksaber just under Axe’s jaw. Close enough that the man had to have felt the heat. Axe was breathing hard, but you couldn’t see his face⏤ his back was to you. Din stood where you could see his face and he looked to be the picture of calm.

“Cetar.” Din demanded. Bo Katan whispered, her eyes not leaving the scene, as she translated the Mando’a. ‘Kneel’. Din asked him to kneel. You felt a chill run up your spine and it wasn’t from the cold air. The darksaber was singing. Excited. Eager. It craved and craved and craved. Din repeated the command. “Cetar.”

“Nayc.” Axe replied. You didn’t need that word translated.

At the sound of his refusal, you watched a flash of an emotion you didn’t immediately recognize in Din’s eyes. However, it was clear to see the way his lips briefly curled up into a smirk. You opened your mouth to scream, but all your words caught in your throat. Thick, heavy, and unwilling to be heard. Before you could overcome your hindrance, Din shoved the darksaber through Axe’s chest with not even a singular hiccup of hesitation. Your mouth hung open in shock and disbelief, but the horror didn’t land until Din leaned in and used his vibroblade to slice through the man’s neck in one swift motion. Blood sprayed out and the darksaber was screaming in pleasure.

“He had to make an example.” Bo Katan whispered. “It’s unfortunate, but Woves brought this upon himself.”

Din deactivated the saber and set it back onto his belt. While Axe Woves’ body slumped to the ground, Din tucked the still bloody vibroblade back into his boot’s holster. You stared at him wide eyed and horrified as Din marched back to the platform. He spoke before the crowd again, but it felt like your ears were ringing. The man you fell in love with would never have cut a man down in cold blood. The duel had been over. It didn’t have to end with blood.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from Din as he crossed the platform to sit on the throne. His legs were spread out in dominance as he lounged in the seat radiating confidence and pride. His eyes snapped to yours and Din held his hand out to you. Bo Katan gave you a small nudge and you stumbled toward the throne with hesitant steps. Din’s cold features melted away as he stared up at you as he always did, loving, but it only made the splattering of blood on his face that much more daunting.

When you placed your hand in his, your fingers were trembling. Din squeezed your hand in comfort and he carefully pulled you back so you sat in his seat. Bo Katan was addressing the crowd and you stared and stared at Axe Woves’ dead body. Still laying on the courtyard’s ground, the pool of blood around him growing larger and larger.

You felt Din’s breath on your neck. His hands settled on your hips as he sat up to press his chest against your back. His breath was replaced with his lips. Din mumbled about how much he loved you and how important you were to him against your skin. All this time, all the hope you had, was for naught. The man at your back was a stranger.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Din pressed another hot kiss to the back of your neck. "But I just wanted to show you our new throne, my queen. Surprise."

As it turned out, the light at the end of the tunnel had turned out to be just more hellfire.

In the dead of night, you ran.

You had hoped Din would return to his senses, become the man he once was, on his own accord. You hoped he had only needed time, but this had been proof. You were out of your depth. Din needed more than just time, he needed more than just you. As soon as you got past the thick, stormy atmosphere on Mandalore, you’d call for help.

The plan had been to take Din’s ship. It was the only one you were familiar with the controls enough to not have to worry about running into any issues. As it turned out, flying was not going to be the biggest problem you faced.

“Cyar’ika.”

Your blood ran cold. Slowly, nervously, you turned around to see Din stood not far away. His shoulders were slumped in disappointment, and the look in his eyes could only be described as absolute and total devastation. He took one step forward and you took one back. Din’s jaw locked.

“Din…”

“What are you doing?” Din murmured.

You shook your head. “Listen to me⏤”

“Listen??” Din scoffed. He took in a shuddering breath. “How could you⏤ Cyar’ika, I… Why?”

His voice cracked and you felt your heart ache in your chest. Din took another step toward you and you held a hand up which brought him to a sudden halt. You pressed your lips together then tried to explain that you were doing this for him. “Din, you’re not…you’re not yourself. You need help.”

“I need you.” Din replied firmly. “Everything is fine.”

“You murdered a man in cold blood today.”

“Is that what you⏤ You truly think so little of me?” Din asked. “It was a duel, cyar’ika. A challenge on my rule. I had no choice.”

You took a step toward him. “Din, you slaughtered him. And you enjoyed it.”

Din’s eyes darkened and the energy that slammed into you was possessive. For so long, you assumed that was how the darksaber felt. However, seeing the way he stared at you now, you realized the possession went much further than how the saber felt for him. He stormed forward and on pure instinct your hand drew your lightsaber without activating it. A warning. His steps stuttered. You didn’t know it was possible to visually see a person’s heart break, but you were witness to it right now.

“Cyar’ika,” Din whispered, “I would never hurt you. You know that, right?”

That was true for the man you fell in love with.

Was it still true?

“I…I…” You struggled to find your words.

Din held his hands out, palms up, in surrender. He took slow steps toward you as if you were a skittish animal he was trying to calm. The tenderness in Din’s gaze cracked your resolve. He reached out and let his hands slowly drag down your arms until they reached your hands. You felt your body tremble. It was easy to make the decision to run when you stared at Din’s features covered in blood, but now? His warm, brown eyes reminded you of every soft touch and tender word of love.

“Just come back with me.” Din whispered. “Talk to me, cyar’ika. I know…I know things haven’t been right.” He squeezed your hands and pushed the one holding the lightsaber back to your hip. “Let me fix this. Let me make this right. Give me a chance.”

Din leaned forward to set his forehead against yours. A familiar motion that brought you comfort. You let out a soft sigh. One more night. You could spend it talking with Din, gauging a better plan, and it wasn’t like you would be able to leave right now anyways. Not with him right in front of you like this. The look in his eyes told you he wasn’t just going to let you walk away and the absolute last thing you wanted to do was fight him.

“Please?” Din pleased.

“Okay.” You murmured.

The bright smile of relief that crossed his face made your heart flutter. Din pulled you into a tight hug and he clung to you like a lifeline. This would be alright. This would be okay. You’d make sure of it. Din slipped his hand into yours and carefully tugged you alongside him. The entire walk back to your bedroom was silent. Din’s thumb traced patterns against your skin.

“I love you.” Din said the moment you were back in your shared room together. His words came out as a desperate ache. “I’m sorry…”

“No, Din, I…I love you. I will always love you.” You replied. “I was leaving to help you.” Din’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I just think you’ve lost sight of your path.” You pressed your lips together then settled your hands on his chest. “I think we should leave Mandalore. Not forever, just⏤ I think we should visit Boba or Karga. Peli? Or… Or maybe we can reach out to Skywalker. Try to visit Grogu.”

Din’s eyes widened at the suggestion.

He wrapped his hands around your wrists then lifted your hands so he could press a soft kiss against one palm then the other. Din nodded. “Okay. Tomorrow. I’ll be better, cyar’ika.” You gave him a small smile and he leaned in to crash his lips against yours. The way his lips moved against yours made you feel like he was trying to physically beg you to stay with him. Din had never been a man of many words, he’d whisper kind sentiments, but he always showed how much he cared by action. “I love you.” Din’s mouth dropped to your neck as his hands began to tear at your clothes. “You are everything to me.”

Your hands reached out to unlatch Din’s armor. It was muscle memory for you. How many times had you done this exact same action in the dark during your time with him? Too many to count. His besker fell to the ground and the second he was bare of any armor, Din scooped you up and carried you to bed.

In the morning everything would be okay.

You’d make it so.

A familiar hand caressing the side of your face is what you woke to. You forced your eyes open, groggy, to find that Din was sitting on the side of the bed leaning over you. He wore his armor once more. Din leaned down and pressed a feather light kiss to your forehead.

“Ni ceta, cyar’ika.”

“Din?” You questioned.

“I want you to know that everything I do is because I love you.” Din said. “I’ve lost everything, but you.” He cradled the side of your face. “Even this, accepting the title and responsibility of Mandalor, I did with you in mind.”

There was a tone in his voice that was making you nervous. Slowly, you sat up and shook your head, “Din, I never asked you to do that.”

“I know.” He replied. “But this is how I protect you.”

“Din⏤”

“There is nothing in this galaxy that will harm you while I’m around.” Din said firmly. He stood up off the bed and gave you a tight nod. “I won’t lose you. I can’t lose you. This won’t last forever, I swear it. But I can’t leave anything to chance. Not when you mean so much to me.”

Din began to walk toward the bedroom door to leave and you stared at him in confusion. Quickly, before he could leave, you threw the blankets off your body and jumped out of bed. There was a heaviness around your left ankle, a coldness, and with every movement came a rattling. You glanced down to see a shiny, silver chain locked around your ankle. It trailed to the wall beside your bed.

“Din.” You breathed. He stopped but said nothing. “Din?” He turned around with sad eyes. Panicked, you began to rush toward him, but a few feet away from him the chain caught your ankle and you nearly fell to the floor. Warm hands caught you by the arms and pulled your back to your feet. Teary eyed, you shook your head. “What have you done?”

“It’s temporary.” Din repeated himself. “Just until I know you won’t hurt yourself by leaving.”

“Hurt myself⏤ Din, I⏤”

“Cyar’ika, I'm doing this for you. To protect you.” Din gave you a tight lipped smile of regret. “Or until I can make you understand.” Din leaned his forehead against yours. The soft action you loved ruined by his words. “You are mine, cyar’ika. You are mine, and I am yours.” That look of possession was in his eyes again. “And because you are mine, I have to take care of you. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

Din was beginning to step back so you quickly cupped his face between your hands. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be. As softly as you could manage, trying to bite back the fear and panic in your voice, you mumbled. “Din, baby, you’re losing yourself. I love you, but you’re losing yourself and it’s breaking my heart. Let me go. Let me help you.”

He turned his head and gently kissed the inside of your palm.

“Maybe I am.” Din murmured. “But if that’s the cost of keeping you, then it’s one I will happily pay.”

Din left without another word and you crumpled to the ground in tears. You mourned for the man you lost and cursed the man who took his place.

mando'a translations

ni ceta: i'm sorry cyar'ika: darling, sweetheart cetar: kneel nayc: no

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mirimim

1 year ago

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mirimim

2 years ago

A FRESH START [20]

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Warnings: description of injuries, language, spoilers for S3 The Mandalorian, mentions of death experiences, anxiety, PTSD references

Word Count: 5,066

Updates every Thursday

#20: SHORT STICK BEARS HIS WRATH

"you can't heal if you pretend you're not hurt." -aliza grace

Grogu had a habit of making friends wherever he went. So, it didn’t surprise Din to see that a bulk of Ari’s crew were gushing over his son and offering him different things to play with. After parking the N1 and walking to the address Ari messaged him, what looked like an old fighting gym, he entered to see a small group of people surrounding Grogu who stood on the table and babbled. They listened intently, cooed back to him, and offered him a variety of objects to either eat or play with.

Din’s eyes landed on Ari who was sitting in a desk chair, feet kicked up and ankles crossed, while frowning at the sight. When her gaze drifted toward him she blew out an annoyed breath of air. “Finally. Can you please take your son and go? It seems while he’s around my crew is,” Ari turned to yell out the next words at the people surrounding Grogu, “Incapable of doing their kriffing jobs!”

“The stressors of running a criminal empire.” Din snorted.

“Aw, you think my little show is an empire?” Ari grinned impishly. “That’s cute. I appreciate it, but I don’t think I’ve reached that level of notoriety yet.”

“Yeah, well, I have faith in you.”

Din knew her main skill set was in smuggling. He assumed that’s what she was still doing, just branching out and roping others in. Still, Din wasn’t too worried about breaking up her party or shining a spotlight down on her. Of all the evil Din had seen in the galaxy, Ari was harmless. Well, mostly harmless.

“Hey boss, can we keep it?” A large man turned and pointed to Grogu who had his hands up in the air as he babbled about a story.

“Him, you idiot.” Ari corrected. “It’s Mando’s son.”

“Oh, sorry.” The man replied. “Can we keep him?”

“See what I mean? Useless.” Ari scoffed. Din called out for Grogu who took the time to gather up all the snacks being offered to him then jumped into his pram to drift over. Ari crossed her arms and snapped for the others to get back to their jobs. They gradually drifted away. She looked at him. “So? How’s the doc?”

Din tilted his head. “Left him thirty minutes outside the city to crawl back.”

“That all?”

“I may have…” Din chose his words carefully. “Stacked the odds against him.” Ari chuckled in amusement and he nodded. “I need you to keep an eye on that for me.”

“How so?”

“Make sure there’s a corpse, and if there isn’t,” Din shrugged nonchalantly, “Make one.”

The request rolled off his tongue as if he were in Nevarro going to his neighbor’s house to ask for some sugar. Din saw no issue in his request. If he wasn’t on such a time crunch in his eagerness to return to you then he’d stick around and double check for himself.

Ari nodded. “Alright. I’m counting that as two favors now though. So, you owe me.” Din dragged his helmeted gaze to look at her and raised an eyebrow in skepticism as if she’d be able to see. Ari read the tone enough to snicker. “Fine. Fine. We’re even then.”

“Deal.”

“So,” Ari whistled, “If you and your ‘not wife’ ever tie the knot will I get invited to the wedding? Do Mandalorians have weddings?”

“Stop talking.” Din shook his head and turned to leave. He chuckled under his breath. Grogu followed after him⏤ the child’s cheeks full of some local dessert. Great, now he’d be bouncing around the cockpit of the N1 for Maker knows how long.

Ari called a good-bye after him as he left. “Nice seeing you too, Mando! Safe travels!”

Nima told you not to freak out. Her exact words had been, ‘Alright, everything is okay and you are safe and it’s all going to be fine but you need to know this’. Your first horrific thought was that the news would somehow involve your boys. It had been a knee jerk fear that filled your entire soul with dread. Then Nima followed it up with, ‘Kurt’s trial was put on hold’.

And, as wild as it was, you felt relief. That had been your initial reaction. Before Nevarro, hearing those words would have made you immediately throw up. But in this situation, all you could think was how grateful you were that the bad news didn’t involve Din or Grogu.

“I’m sorry.” Nima murmured and you could see how devastated she was to share this news with you. She was the kind of person who felt every emotion she had so deeply. It’s why she was so lively and bubbly as her day to day happiness shined through. However, in moments like this, it broke your heart to see her so empathetic to your own pain. “I went back and forth on telling you, but you made me swear to update you on any news I thought was important and this seemed important. Plus, I didn’t want you to hear on accident from somewhere else or⏤”

“Nima.” You reached out to squeeze her arm and gave her a smile. “It’s okay. Thank you for telling me.” The longer the news lingered in your mind the more it began to unravel your sense of peace. “What happened? Do we know why?”

She shook her head. “They won’t report it yet. Just that it’s delayed.”

Could trials be delayed right in the middle of it? You didn’t know a lot about law or the system surrounding it. Nima was rambling about something or another, trying to bring you comfort, but your thoughts drifted away. You wished Din were here. That wasn’t a surprising thought. Every single day since they left, multiple times a day really, you’d see something or think of something that made you crave their presence more than the baseline. Just yesterday you bought a bag of Grogu’s favorite blue cookies from the sandwich shop just for the hell of it.

You heard your name, mumbled in concern, and your focus snapped back to Nima who was staring at you as if she was waiting for you to crumble. Slowly, you could feel the edges of your nerves beginning to fray, but that’s what work was for right? Distract you from all those dangerous thoughts and fears.

“Seriously. I am okay.” You reassured her once more. “This stays between us, right?”

“Of course.”

Your day carried on as if the news hadn't been shared with you. It would be the one day you wanted to keep busy that all of Nevarro decided to be the picture perfect definition of health. It was in part due to the droid being repaired which took off a lot of lower level urgent cases rather than emergent and it even saw some people with active conditions routinely. That would be it's primary purpose until the new guy that Karga hired eventually got out here.

When you went home for the night, you had only been moving around the kitchen for a few minutes, getting dinner ready, when your com rang for a holocall. You set your armband on the island counter to stand and answer. Grogu’s face immediately filled the entire screen with a loud ‘Ma!’ which pulled a laugh out of you. You needed that.

“Grogu, share.” Din replied though you could only barely see him behind Grogu’s face.

“No.” Grogu replied simply before he began to babble about his day. He was getting better at expressing himself every day and you were picking up on words like ‘new friends’, ‘more food’, and even something that sounded like he was trying to tell you there was someone he didn’t like. Din sighed loudly, but you could hear the amusement in his tone.

“Uh huh.” You nodded your head, giving the little green boy your full attention, “Tell Ma all about it, baby.” It wasn’t until a solid five to ten minutes later that Grogu was appeased with the amount of attention from you that he was willing to share with his father. He wiggled out of the camera’s space so you could actually see Din, and the boy waved with a quick ‘Love Ma!’. You actually felt your heart tighten in your chest. “Love you too, baby.”

Grogu crawled away, probably to stir up trouble where he could find it on the small ship, and you bit back tears. The longer you sat with the news about Kurt the more you felt wired and anxious. Getting to talk to Grogu and see the cheerful boy made a world of difference.

“Mama’s boy.” You heard Din mutter with a chuckle while watching Grogu crawl away to wherever he went. His gaze quickly focused back on you and he let out a soft sigh. “Ner kar’ta. How was your day?”

“It was fine.” You leaned against the counter.

For the next half hour, you and Din talked about anything and everything. He told you about how the rest of his trip on that Outer Rim planet went, and he told you he dealt with Daelar. Din didn’t give you details on the specific, but you found that you didn’t really need them. You didn’t really care. Then you told him about your day, but gradually the two of you got off topic and trailed on about other things. Din was speaking, you could hear the sound of his comforting voice, but you found yourself accidentally zoning out. Your mind not falling into a specific thought, but just drifting away. It wasn’t until the third time that Din called out to you that you realized he had been doing so in the first place.

“Hm? Sorry.” You shook your head.

Even through a holocall, halfway across the galaxy, you could see the worry that Din wore. He had shifted forward in his seat, elbows on his knees, and there was a tension in his shoulders. If that didn’t give him away then the tilt in his head and the tone of his voice did. “What’s wrong? You’re troubled.” He didn’t ask if you were troubled. He just knew you were. “Tell me. Are you okay?”

“I am. I promise.” You replied. The last thing you wanted to do was worry him. Knowing Din, if you told him about Kurt he would do something drastic like immediately come back to Nevarro. Which, on one hand, was tempting, but it would just mean he’d need to leave again. Plus, you knew how important this mission was to him. You were not going to intercede with your own issues and drama. So, you decided on a lie of omission. “This afternoon there had been a patient with a chronic illness I didn’t remember much of. He was also Rodian and their anatomy is a blur to me. So, it was a lot of research and just working on the fly and I guess my brain just won’t let it go. I’m second guessing myself.”

Din’s entire body relaxed, but he stayed leaned over so he was closer to the camera⏤ closer to you. “Don’t. You’re incredible at what you do and immensely clever when you need to think on the spot.” You felt your cheeks warm at his blatant complements. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re the greatest physician in the galaxy.”

You snorted. “Right. And that’s your totally unbiased opinion.” Din nodded. “All that medical knowledge you have makes you an expert in that decision.”

“I have twenty plus years of working a cautery, thank you.” Din replied with a chuckle.

“Yes. Obviously, so qualified.”

“Fine.” Din’s voice took a teasing edge. “You’re the best physician in all of Nevarro. Is that better?”

You let out a loud laugh and just as it had eased your anxious heart with Grogu, Din settled your soul as well. Din was immensely proud of himself. You could see the smug air about him even through the holocall. When your laughter died down, you rested your chin on your hand to hold up your head.

“I miss you.” You mumbled.

Din sighed. “I miss you too, ner kar’ta. But it won’t be much longer.” You perked up. “I am stopping to speak to an…old friend.” The way he said the words made you doubt that this person was an actual friend⏤ or that the relationship was tumultuous at best. “Then on to Mandalore.”

A soft smile filled your features at the news.

“Ma! Ma!” Grogu was yelling again as he tried to get into the picture.

Din scooped the boy up to set him on his laugh and playfully scolded. “You had your turn, ad’ika. It’s my turn with Ma.”

“No. Me.” Grogu argued.

You watched in amusement as Din continued to tease Grogu into a silly argument on who got to have your attention. Maker, you needed them back soon.

Ever since Nima shared the news about Kurt, nightmares plagued you. It was an odd mix of past and future. Some nights Kurt would be carving into you, telling you that you didn’t deserve to live, and other nights you’d have to watch helplessly as he hurt Din and Grogu.

You preferred the nights where Kurt made you bleed.

That added to the fact that while on Mandalore Din was not going to be able to call you due to interference really distracted you. Sleep deprived and anxiety riddled while working in a clinic with medical tools was not the ideal combination. The bacta tank needed refreshing in case of emergencies and during a quiet moment in the office you had told Aayla you planned to get it done. It was dirty work, cleaning the bacta filters, but you didn’t mind it. You hoped forward motion, keeping yourself busy, would keep you awake and sane.

So, when your hand slipped on the mechanism, causing the thick filter door to slam shut on your hand, it had been entirely your own fault.

"Fuck!" You screamed in agony as you felt the bones in your fingers snap. Blinded by the panic, your natural instinct was to try to pull your hand out, but the door was closed too tight for it to budge. All it did was send sharp, lightning strikes of pain shooting up your arm.

Aayla was by your side in an instant and she was shouting commands or reassurances at you, but your mind was in a fog. Maybe it was the pain or the exhaustion, but your body slumped forward onto the bacta tank as your vision went black.

It came back seconds later, but you didn’t feel the same. Rather than pain, you felt the telltale sign of something running through your veins to bring you relief. You were also now lying on a cot rather than standing over the bacta tank.

“What are we supposed to do when the doctor needs a doctor?” Mayfeld scoffed. You couldn't see him from where you laid, but his voice was easily recognizable. So was Vanth’s who replied.

“Use the droid.”

“The droid? That’s your solution? Let the kriffing droid work on the woman Mando is head over heels for?” Mayfeld cried. “He’s better about the damn things, but if he heard about this he’d come back to Nevarro just to kill us. Then he’d somehow save our asses from the brink of death just so he can kill us again.”

You groaned and all your words came out groggily, “Stop talking. Both of you.” There was the sound of steps and suddenly it was Vanth’s face in your vision grinning down at you. “Why are you in here again?”

“Well, because the doc went and got her hand jammed up in some machinery.” Vanth replied. His words reminded you of the injury and you lifted your left hand to see a splint wrapped around your last three fingers. The ring finger was the worst, but all three were discolored and swollen. Vanth’s teasing tone switched to sincerity. “How’re you feeling, little lady?”

“Drugged.” You complained and rubbed your face with your good hand. The lack of pain was nice, but you hated how certain strong medications could make you feel.

“Yeah,” Mayfeld chimed, “That’s the e-bacta shot we gave you.”

“E-bacta??” You scoffed. “Where the hell did you get the e-bacta and why did you bring it into my clinic? That shit is illegal for a reason.” This version of bacta was so potent and strong that it was only one step down from spice, really. Addictive as hell and hard to keep from degrading. “Why did you do that?”

Vanth pointed at your broken hand. “Because that looks kriffing miserable. We’d put you in the tank altogether just to be cautious but we had to break the damn thing to get you unlodged from it.”

“Shit.” You forced yourself to sit up and the room spun. Both men reached out to steady you. “The tank is broken??”

Mayfeld snorted. “Yeah, and so is your hand. Focus on that instead.”

You rubbed your face in a poor attempt to gain some clarity. “Please tell me no one told Mando.”

Maybe he’d still be on Mandalore and there’d be no service for someone to tell him you got hurt. This was just like a few days ago when you learned about Kurt. You couldn’t make Din worry. He needed to focus on his own task and not be thinking about you.

“Told Mando?” Mayfeld cried. “Nobody wants to make the call and tell the indestructible tin can that we let his girl get hurt.”

Vanth shrugged. “We were gonna draw straws later. Us, Karga, Nima, Peli. Short stick has to bear his wrath.” He grinned at you. “But now that you’re up and talking, little lady, looks like we don’t need to do that.”

Mayfeld nodded and pointed at the man. “Yeah, good point. She should tell him. He won’t kill her.”

“Either stop talking or give me more e-bacta.” You grumbled.

Ignoring the well meaning but overbearing men, you cradled your broken hand in your lap. The splint on your hand was decent. You’d need something more permanent, but for a patch job it was solid. The sound of doors sliding open made you glance up to see Aayla fluttering in. She put her hands on her hips with a solid attempt of intimidation.

“I already chased out Nima. Now you two, as well?”

The men glanced at you and you tilted your head and added. “Go. Don’t tell Mando.” As they neared the door you called out one last time. “And…thanks, guys.”

You did appreciate them and how much they cared. Even if some of that caring just came from a healthy fear of Din. Not that you thought Din would actually hurt either man. They were friends and this had very clearly been your fault.

“Did you do this?” You pointed to your hand and Aayla nodded with a sheepish grin. “It’s good. It’s really good, Aayla.” The woman beamed at your praise and you chuckled. “Did you get any scans yet?”

“Yes. We did.” She brought over a datapad and opened up the program that held all the imaging. You took it from her to look over your own scans and winced. Dank farrik. Hairline fractures on your pinky and middle finger, and an actual break in your ring finger. No wonder you blacked out. “Do we need to get you to a facility? Does your finger need surgical correction?”

You praised her line of thought then shook her head. “The fracture will heal itself once splinted. In order to test the tendons I need the swelling to go down just a bit so I can try moving my finger.”

Aayla stepped away and then returned with a cream and some ice. She got you situated on the cot and lifted the bed so you could lay back without being entirely flat. She was going to be a good doctor one day. After she went through school and all that. You leaned your head against the pillow and shut your eyes. It would be best for you to get some solid shut eye while the e-bacta was in your system.

Since reaching Mandalore, everything had happened fast. Back to back to back, Din had what should have been considered one of the worst days of his life. Nearly dying three times qualified as a terrible day. However, Din was not dead. More than just not dead, he was redeemed.

Din Djarin was no longer an Apostate.

He was Mandalorian once more.

That alone could make this a wonderful day, but the knowledge that this meant he could proceed in pursuing you was overwhelming. If he thought about it for too long it’d send him to his knees. The first thing he wanted to do was call you, but that plan was derailed when Imps bombed Bo Katan’s home. Considering the woman had saved his life, and watched Grogu when he was unable, the least he could do was get her to safety. Maybe the covert wasn’t the best place for Bo Katan Kryze, but Din needed to go there anyway so why not use it as a shelter.

As Nima liked to say: two porgs, one blaster.

When everything had settled, the first thing he did was find a quiet spot to call you. Grogu was passed out in his arms and Bo Katan was sitting not too far away in contemplation.

“You alright?” Din questioned.

Bo hummed. “Suppose so. Not how I expected this day to go, but…”

“I’m sorry. About your home.”

“...Thank you.” Bo said after a beat of hesitation.

Din could tell she was still in distress. Lost in her thoughts. He could’ve pressed further, attempt to help her some more, but it would have to wait. If Din didn’t talk to you right now he’d burst. The excitement of being redeemed mingled with the knowledge that for a brief moment today he thought everything had been over.

He activated the holocall and leaned against the cave wall.

When your face appeared on the screen, Din sighed in relief. Being trapped on Mandalore, sending Grogu away, your face had been the last one he thought of. “Ner kar’ta.” He breathed out. Din didn’t even care that Bo was only a few feet away and able to hear his entire conversation. “You are…”

He was going to call her a sight for sore eyes, but you looked more than exhausted. Something was wrong. Your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes and you didn’t have that same glow that Din admired. Before he could question, you spoke, “You can call! That means you’re not on Mandalore anymore, right? How’d it go?”

“I am redeemed.” Din said with pride and despite how tired you look the smile you wore brightened in excitement. You cried out about how happy you were for him and how proud and how much you missed him and couldn’t wait to see him. Hearing that praise from you was somehow better than hearing the Armorer confirm he was no longer an Apostate. Din shook his head, deciding to steer right back to his concern, “You look terrible, ner kar’ta.”

You forced a chuckle. “Exactly what a girl wants to hear.”

“You are the most stunning woman I have ever known, and every day I get to see you, bask in your beauty, is a blessing I am undeserving of.” Din said sincerely and he watched your face twist in mild embarrassment. Your smile turning cute and sheepish. He grew serious once more. “But right now, you look ill. Hurt. So I will ask again," Din shook his head, "What. Is. Going. On?”

You twisted your lips, weighing pros and cons, and then with a sigh you lifted your right hand so it came into the screen’s view. Din’s eyes widened at the swollen and discolored look of your fingers wrapped in a makeshift split.

“Me’bana!? Cuyir gar o'r aaray??” Din barked. Grogu stirred briefly in his arms. “Pehea rucuyir gar shupur'yc!?”

“I don’t speak Mando’a, honey.” You sighed with a small amused smile.

If Din wasn’t so caught off guard and worried about the state of your hand, the nickname that fell from your lips so easily would have made him flush in warmth. Din shook his head. “Are you alright?? What happened?”

“It was stupid.” You shook your head. “Cleaning the bacta tank, I slipped up. Got my hand caught in the filter door.” That wasn’t like you. Typically, you were very cautious and careful with your work. “It looks worse than it actually is, I swear. The swelling has gone down a lot.”

Din narrowed his eyes at your wording. “How much time has passed? When did this happen, ner kar’ta?”

“...Yesterday?” You said it like it was a question.

“Ner kar’ta.”

“Yesterday morning.” You confirmed sheepishly.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You were on Mandalore. No service.”

Din tilted his head, “You tried to hide it at the start of this conversation. If I didn’t press, would you have told me about your accident?” You pressed your lips together and winced. Din blew out a breath of air. “Dank farrik. Ner kar’ta…”

“I didn’t want to worry you.” You said softly with a frown.

Din shook his head again, keeping his voice firm. “I need to know these things.” The thought that you were injured was staggering, but knowing you could be hurt and keep it from him? All he wanted in life was to protect you. Take care of you. “You need to tell me⏤”

“Why?” Bo suddenly called out loud enough that your face morphed into confusion at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. “Did you tell her about how you nearly died three times today?”

Din flinched and your jaw popped open. The exhaustion seemed to be wiped away and replaced with a mix of anger and shock. “You what!?” Din began to speak but you cut him off. “You nearly died today!? Din! What the hell is the mystery voice talking about!?”

“Well, it wasn’t⏤”

“You were gonna scold me about my broken hand and not mention multiple near death experiences??” Din winced. That was a fair point. He didn’t see it from that side. The sight of your discolored and swollen digits had blinded him about every other detail of the day. “Din Djarin⏤ Do you have a middle name? I want to yell your entire name at you but⏤ never mind. Just⏤ Maker! Are you alright? Are you safe? Is Grogu⏤”

Din cut in, “Yes. To all of it. Grogu is safe,” He lifted his arm enough that she could see the snoozing boy, “I am safe, I am okay. In fact, I am less injured than you are right now.” He sighed. “And, you’re right. That wasn’t fair of me. I just… I panicked.”

Your gaze softened but the concern remained. “Yeah. I guess… As long as you guys are safe.”

“We are, and we’ll be home soon.” Din promised. Your lips twitched up into a smile. “Who is taking care of you right now?”

You chuckled. “Uh, me?”

Din hummed in displeasure. He should be there to help you⏤ to take care of you. It killed him to be this far from you. A part of him wanted to stand up right now and fly home, but he needed to talk to the Armorer tomorrow. He needed to have something forged.

“Maybe you should stay with Nima…”

“I can take care of myself, Din.” You grinned. “I’m the greatest doctor in the galaxy, remember?” Din chuckled under his breath. “You really are okay, though?”

Din nodded. “I swear to you, ner kar’ta.”

They only spoke for a few more moments because Din was adamant you go to bed even though it wasn’t very late in Nevarro. You just looked so exhausted. Maybe he’d talk to Karga about a vacation. If they got the new physician to move to Nevarro then the city could afford to spare you for a few days. Vanth could stay a little while longer to cover for him. Din just wanted to take you somewhere nice⏤ somewhere relaxing. Though he should probably focus on actually courting you before he starts thinking of honeymoon options.

When the holocall ended, Din glanced over at Bo who simply tilted her head at him. He scoffed, “Really?”

“Seemed like pertinent information.”

“Your hand still looks like shit.”

You glanced up at Nima with a tight lipped smile. “A little rude considering I saved your hand.” She snickered. She wasn’t wrong. The swelling had improved but the bruising still looked Maker awful. Though, with Aayla’s help you were able to get a real splint on it. “I thought you were bringing me lunch.”

“I thought you were going to come with me to lunch.” She argued.

Luckily, the clinic wasn’t busy. So you shrugged out of your white coat, leaving you in just your scrubs, and then followed Nima who was leading the way with a bounce. There had been no further news on the Kurt situation which left you in turmoil. However, Nima had been doing her best to distract you and anytime anxiety did try to wash over you, you just reminded yourself that your boys would be home in the next 48 hours or so.

“The Razor Crest project is going so well.” Nima clapped her hands. “I mean, we’re still missing some key pieces, but Peli and I are nearly done with the engine rebuild. Can you believe that?” You hummed in interest. It’d be nice to see it eventually. The Crest was such a strong presence in so many of Din’s story and Grogu’s pictures. Obviously, this wasn’t the exact same. Version 2.0, but still. “Peli said⏤”

The sound of a low rumble filled the air. As you, Nima, and all the other citizens standing outside paused to listen to the sound, a large shade began to cover the city. As if the sun was being blocked out. You looked up and your eyes widened at the sight of a huge ship.

“Shit. That’s a Corsair.” Nima mumbled in shock. Just as the words left her mouth, an alarm began to blare loudly and the voice of a droid called for evacuation to the lava fields. You didn't even have a spare second to panic because that’s when blaster fire rained down on Nevarro.

mando'a translations

ner kar'ata: my heart Me'bana?: What happened? Cuyir gar o'r aaray?: Are you in pain? Pehea rucuyir gar shupur'yc?: How were you injuried?

taglist:

@aheadfullofsteverogers @yyiikes @kneelforloki @c-ms1ut @sgt-morgan @luthienaliceisilra @fawn-kitten @missbabyjay @coldlamaspersonspy @dilfsaremyfavourite @jamesbuckybarnes @yorkeylover @teawrites01 @emily-roberts @djarinxore @impala1967666 @shelbyteller @faithrenner @dindjarindude @dankfarrick29 @rh1nestonecowg1rl @garbo-lesbo @anythingforattention @tearfulsolace @onceinamando @catharinaroxastova @uwu-i-purple-you @modiddys-blog @stagerightlauren @mini-bees @xxinvisblexx @adoringanakin @sagegreensensei @spidey-3 @sydney-1209 @thepascalofus @hrtsforpascal @banana-lol @daybleedsintonightfall11 @lil-dragon-draws @guccistardust @ideajpeg @harriedandharassed @leithatnight @elfamosotoga @damnzelsoul @the-anchored-sailor-girl @morks-watermelon @katelynmarieyt @taylorann2013 @chonkercatto @dheet @liadamerondjarin @fallinallinmendes @missdicaprio @jennaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa @alphaash99 @djarinsmixtape @pcrushinnerd @closedaddition @thelovelyhann @harrys-sunflower-bakery @mayaaaaah @theway-thisis

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mirimim

1 year ago

None of the words I have to say about Jure are in the bible.

My Future in You | 1.9 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: Bradley’s twenty-two years old and not where he’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be out of the academy by now. Instead, he’s retaking his senior year of college and praying to god that he gets into flight school. Mav’s gone, his mom’s gone. He’s mad at the world. Then, a hook up at a Halloween party changes his future even more than he could have imagined.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, references to abortion in a few chapters, angst, will be fluff eventually, will be smut so 18+, enemies to lovers kinda thing, kind of a filler )):

…

Back and forth, back again. White socks padding along the floor, his eyes following you like he’s in the crowd at a tennis match. Bradley watches in silence. He’s sitting back against the wall behind his bed, since he doesn’t have a headboard, arms folded over his chest.

Asking about the future has clearly triggered some kind of meltdown, and at this point, he knows better than to intervene. Instead, he grabs the baseball on his bedside table and tosses it upwards, catching it again.

Each time it lands in his palm, you turn. Pacing from one side of his room to the other, ranting about the logistics of his question. It’s been around fifteen minutes now, Bradley’s sitting in his boxers and a t-shirt, paying less and less attention.

You’ve moved on to the second phase of your rant now. Phase one was about you and him — barely knowing each other, not even liking one another. That kind of thing. He had tried disagreeing, but you’re better at rationalizing than he is.

This is more about the financial side of things.

“I have money.” Bradley shrugs his shoulders calmly, the ball bounces off of the ceiling and ricochets — he leans off of the bed and catches it. Without looking back at you, he continues to toss it up and catch it again. You stare at him.

The boy sitting on the cheap mattress, tossing up a baseball he had taken from this year’s freshman orientation. The father of your child.

You scoff incredulously. Beige walls, plain navy sheets and football banners on the walls. Like this is the kind of home you’d like to raise your child in. “Real money. Babies aren’t cheap, and I’ll be working — do you know how much daycare costs?”

“I have real money.”

You inhale sharply. Everything’s hitting you all at once. You had been putting off this conversation for a reason and now you’re freaking out. You’ve got less than twenty weeks to get your shit together. Stopping by the door, you prop your weight up against it and breathe out hard.

“Real real money, Bradley — I barely even have a credit score, there’s no way we’re getting approved for an apartment.”

“My credit score is good and I’ve got money from the house.” He shrugs again, spinning the ball around in his hand and tossing it up. Too hard, once again. It bounces from the ceiling and ricochets. You catch the ball.

He looks up at you, finding you staring at him now. He raises his eyebrows.

“House?”

“Yeah, my parents’ house.” Bradley replies, settling down and tucking his arm behind his head now that you’re squeezing his only source of entertainment so hard that he’s somewhat concerned you might crush it. He was certain he had mentioned this to you before. “I inherited it after my Mom died.”

The house, the two life insurance policies. There had to be some kind of upside to losing both of his parents before he had turned twenty. You stand by his door, dumbfounded.

“I’m sorry… so, you own a house?” You squeak out.

He shrugs his shoulders again, glancing down at the baseball in your hands and sighing. “Yeah, it’s by the base in Norfolk. My dad was stationed there for a bit in the eighties. I was going to sell it, but my cousin’s staying there. He pays me rent.”

You take a small step towards him. He runs his fingers through his curls, tilting his head, smiling softly. Those stupid, big brown eyes stare into yours. He lifts his hand and reaches out for you.

“I’ve got this,” He nods, curling his fingers for you to come closer. You swallow softly as you step towards him. He sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, parting his thighs. You step between his legs. Bradley rests his hands on your hips.

He leans forwards, pressing his lips gently to your stomach over your sweater. “We’ve got this. You’ve been saying it since the beginning.”

You soften slightly, pushing your fingers through his auburn curls. He looks up at you, lips quirked up into a smile. Suddenly, his brows furrow.

“Wait, so — when I offered you money in December… what did you think I meant?” He frowns slightly, stroking his hands along your sides. Thinking back to it, you shrug.

“A couple hundred, I don’t know. You were being a dick.”

He chuckles and pulls you forwards so that you’re perched on his knee. His perpetually warm skin pressing flush against yours. He wraps his arms around you and nods his head. “I’m sorry.”

Bradley has successfully bypassed your first two protests to moving in together, leaving you to sit and think about your options now. Graduation is two months away, the baby’ll be here a few months after that.

You look at Bradley, trailing your fingers through his curls tenderly as you think about your future with him.

Sitting, rolling, crawling. Experiencing all of that with your son, taking him to the park and to the pool — all while Bradley’s a couple of hundred miles away, on his own.

Could you do this without Bradley? — Probably. It’s just that you’re starting to question whether you want to anymore. This morning, you had a boyfriend — not Bradley. Now you’re sitting here discussing moving in with him.

“But my job is going to be here.” You say quietly, frowning at him.

He nods his head. “I thought about that. There are offices near Pensacola, it’ll just be a case of calling them up and asking to switch. Which, your dad’ll be able to organise for you.”

“Did you forget that he kind of disowned me?”

Bradley shakes his head, “No, I remembered, but he spoke about how proud he was of you for getting that grad scheme at a couple of events, it’s on google. People would probably ask questions if you suddenly dropped out of it, right? — It’ll be easier for you to work if we’re together, so it’s in his best interests to make a phone call.”

Once again, he renders you silent. This is not the same idiot you’ve been putting up with for the past few months. He skims his hand along your thigh and shrugs his shoulders.

“So, yes?”

Your lips quirk softly at the edges, that thundering beat in your chest finally slowing. He grins, leaning forwards and pressing his lips to yours. He knows that his parents would be proud of him, using his money for this.

It beats blowing it on alcohol and new cars. He’s happy with his bronco and cheap beer. He knows he’d be even happier getting to see his son grow every day.

“Where’s all this coming from?” You murmur softly, pulling back and trailing your fingertips back down his arm.

Jake makes it home a little after 9am the next morning, his head pounding as he tries to close the door as quietly as possible. He stumbles forwards into the kitchen, needing water urgently before he blacks out. Eyes closed, he turns on the sink and sticks his head under the stream of water, mouth wide open.

A soft giggle to his left draws his attention. He lifts his head and squints. You’re sitting on Bradley’s lap at the table, both of you looking over the top of a laptop at Jake. He stares at the two of you, blank-faced.

“Morning, sunshine.” Bradley teases playfully. You laugh softly and nudge your elbow into his ribs. He kisses your jaw tenderly, wrapping his arms around your middle.

If Jake didn’t feel sick before, staring at the two of you is certainly getting him there.

“What are you two so chirpy about?” He mumbles tiredly.

You open your mouth to answer. You’ve been awake half of the night, figuring out how to delicately break this to Jake. He’s not going to take it well, and you know you need to approach this with some sensitivity.

“We’re moving in together.” Bradley answers, smiling.

You close your mouth quickly as Jake’s gaze turns towards you. The look on your face tells him that it’s true, and that’s as much as he cares to hear. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

There’s something about knowing that there’s nothing he can do to intervene that really just makes his hangover that little bit worse. Knowing that his little sister is planning to move to the other side of the country, with a baby and that idiot — and there’s nothing he can do about it.

He turns away from you both, shaking his head as he leaves the kitchen without a word. Bradley scoffs, shaking his head and turning his attention back to the apartment listings.

It’s three days before Jake speaks to either of you again. The only thing that gets him to cave is hearing you crying in Bradley’s room. He’s halfway up the stairs, stopping in his tracks. The walls here are paper thin, he can hear the bass in Bradley’s voice as he murmurs to you, trying to get you to calm down.

He finds himself equal parts angry and confused with you. Jake understands that you’re scared of doing this alone, but he’ll never understand how you can give Bradley so many chances. He has hurt you time and time again, and Jake can’t stand the thought of him not being there to protect you.

You flinch as the door to Bradley’s room swings open. Jake second-guesses it as the door’s halfway opening, relieved to find that you’re both fully dressed once it’s fully open. He folds his arms over his chest. Bradley sits up, unwrapping his arms from around you.

You whimper softly, trying to stop the stream of tears as you push yourself to the edge of the bed.

“Pensacola.” It’s all that Jake manages to say. Bradley’s brows furrow in confusion, he nods slowly at your brother. Jake exhales. “Fine. I’ll come too.”

“Excuse me?” Bradley scoffs. It’s not exactly what he had in mind — you, him, your son… and Jake.

“Flight school, can’t be that hard if they’ll let you in.” Jake replies. You sit up and wipe at your cheeks, sniffling softly. Bradley turns his head towards you, then back towards Jake. You push yourself up and throw yourself at his chest, wrapping your arms around your big brother. Bradley’s lips quirk amusedly.

It might not have been what he had planned, but then again — none of this is. Leaving his future in the hands of Seresin’s hasn’t worked out badly for him before, and he knows that you’ll like having Jake nearby. But Jake’s got another thing coming if he thinks he’ll be a better pilot.

…

@thedroneranger

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@lovemesomevesey

The Double Birthday

A/N: This is very self indulgent because not only is it Lewis’s birthday it’s also mine! So happy birthday to me and Lew (and my twin) and to anyone else who shares the glorious January 29th birthday!!!

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, Oral (F receiving), hand-job, unprotected P in V (wrap it before you tap it), breeding kink (if you squint)

Main Master-List

———

As the sun peeked through the windows of the house, other than the pitter patter of paws on the hardwood before they scratched at the closed door of the bedroom, it was quiet.

Shifting in the sheets, Y/N’s brows furrowed before a gasp let her mouth and her eyes fluttered open as her body tried to curl into itself. Yet Bob’s hands held firm against her hips as he moved her legs to frame his head, his nose bumping against her clit as his tongue delved into her sweet cunt. Her legs tensed as moans fell from her mouth “No fair!” she whined as her hand moved down to tangle itself into Bob’s hair.

Feeling her nail against his scalp a groan left his lips “Oh Sweetheart”, sending a vibration though Y/N’s core causing her toes to curl. Taking one long lick from the bottom of her cunt up to her clit, Bob relished in hearing the sweet moans that emitted from Y/N before he lifted his head up and rested his chin against her hip bone. “It’s your birthday Sweets… I just wanted to give you a good…. Morning” as he spoke the last few words one of his hands slipped from her hip down to her core, slipping his middle and ring finger into her, the coolness of his ring sending goosebumps across Y/N’s legs as he slowly started pumping them in and out of her. “Can’t I give you a good morning?” he smirked as he felt Y/N’s heel dig into his back as she threw her head back into the pillows.

“But it’s your birthday too” She panted “Wanna give you a good morni- Oh Fuuck Bobby!” she gasped breathlessly as he dipped his head back down, to nip at her clit as his fingers picked up their pace. “Ahh! Yes!” Her hand tightened its grip on his hair as Bob interlaced his free hand with her’s “Please don’t stop!” she pleated “Please Bobby! Feel’s so good!” Starting to rock her hips against his face, Y/N noticed how the whole bed started to rock before she glanced down seeing how Bob had buried himself in her cunt as he rutted his hips into the mattress.

Biting her lip, Y/N took in the sight before grabbing onto Bobby’s hair and raising his head, a sigh left her lips before her hands pulled on his shoulder to bring him up to her. Making his way up the bed, his nose brushed against her as her hands pushed the waistband of his sweatpants down. “Happy Birthday Bobby” she hummed, nipping at his bottom lip while her hand slowly stroked Bob’s cock.

Smirking as a gasp left his lips, he pressed a firm kiss to her lips mumbling “Happy Birthday Sweets” before he replaced her hand with his, guiding his cock into her dripping cunt. Seating himself into her, Bob placed one of her legs over his shoulder as he hitched the other over his hip, holding it in place before slowly rutting his hips into her’s.

“Bobby!” she gasped, hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into her skin.

After grinding into her hips, Bobby slowly unsheathed himself before slowly pushing back into her, keeping his pace slowly and his strokes long. Burying his head into her neck, he kissed his way just below her ear “You know what I want for my birthday Sweets?” he panted before licking the shell of her ear “I want you to come all over my cock… I… want… this pretty… Little… Cunt… to absolutely… soak me” he emphasized every word with a thrust before picking up his pace “Can you do that for me?”

Feeling her start to squeeze around him Y/N nodded her head frantically “Yes! Yes Please” she whined before she turned her head into Bob’s ear “You know what… what I want for my- Shit! My birthday” she forced the words from her mouth, knowing she had to say it before she was too blissed out to say anything “I want your cum Bobby, I wan- OH FuCK YES!” She cried as Bob moved her other leg over her shoulder before she felt his fingers circle over her clit as he planted his feet into the mattress, folding her in half as he pounded into her.

The bed rocked back and forth, headboard slamming into the wall with the momentum, Bob’s forehead pressed into the crook of Y/N’s neck “Yeah you wanna be full of me Sweets?” he mumbled

“Fuuck yes! Please” she pleaded, feeling her legs start to shake. Taking her hands in his, Bob laced their fingers together as Y/N knuckles turned white as her back arched from the bed “OH MY GO-“ as she was pushed over the edge her moans were cut off from Bob pressing his lips to hers to silence his own cries as his hips shuttered before he slammed his hips into Y/N one last time. His hips and legs tensed as they came down from their highs.

Lips still seared together before Y/N freed one of her hands from Bob’s grasp to trail it over his shoulder and down his back. “fuck Sweets” he mutter as a shiver made its way down his back before he rested his forehead against hers. “… Have a good start to the Double Birthday?” he hummed, moving to kiss the top of her nose.

“But best start to the Double Birthday, Bobby” she smiled back.

——

Ppl who might be interested: @sebsxphia @beachbabey @thesluttyarchivist @hangmanapologist @hangmanbrainrot @rhettabbotts @auroralightsthesky @fanboygarcia @mothdruid @writercole @sweetlittlegingy @weakling-grace @glodessa @sunlightmurdock @tigerlillyyy @withahappyrefrain

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mirimim

2 years ago

𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 ☿ 𝟖

☿ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫" 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐘𝐨𝐮 (𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞: 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐀𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐧) ☿ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You have a nightmare. Home feels like a layered word right now. ☿ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 8.3K ☿ 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐲 ☿ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 ☿ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ☿ 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭--𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝟏𝟖+. 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝟎𝐬--𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐞𝐫𝐚.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐂𝐀 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝟐𝟔𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟗

You’re in your childhood home back in Nebraska.

Chicken shit coats your throat and nostrils thickly; it’s been waiting for you to come home. The lights above you, strung up beside sticky fly traps and cobwebs, are buzzing. It’s cold in here. Maybe because there’s still a foot of snow on the ground--or maybe because you’re stark naked.

The kitchen table is set with an old gingham tablecloth--one that has been constantly darned and sewn and patched in its sad life. There’s chipped china at every burlap placemat, the plates smothered with oily peas and thin gravy and chewy steak. The silverware isn’t very silver anymore and the cloth napkins are so worn that they’re translucent.

The table itself is an antique--older than you and your brother--and it creaks and groans with every movement, even if it’s only your brother reaching for the salt or your father cutting his steak. It’s hard and solid beneath your naked body, splintering the soft skin of your rear and the delicate flesh of your thighs.

All around you, in their usual spots, your family is eating dinner. You can hear every little human sound: chewing, sighing, sniffing, smacking, swallowing. You can’t move, though nothing is actually holding you against the table.

They are eating their dinner, their oily peas and thin gravy and chewy steak, with their not-so-silverware as they watch you. Their eyes are glassy, far-away. No one’s face reads any obvious emotion: no one looks horrified, resentful, furious, disgusted, morose. They’re all just watching you like this happens every night.

They can see you lying here. But none of them have acknowledged your presence--and you haven’t said a word to any of them. You’re just lying here under the buzzing light, counting the flies on the flytrap.

What is strange about all of this is that you thought that you would feel ashamed. The only time you were ever caught by your brother, when he pulled you out of the truck and got you sent to California, you felt the heat of shame for a few moments. Shame that something so private as sex had been shown to your family. But then that shame suddenly snapped and dissipated because of Dennis fucking Goldman. Now you can be naked in front of your family at dinnertime and it doesn’t matter.

“Good thing she can’t get herself in trouble,” your brother says suddenly.

You know that he’s talking about getting pregnant.

Your lips are paralyzed, congealed with faux sealant.

“Doctor told us when she was fourteen,” your mama adds, sighing. She’s chewing still, her eyes untrained but lingering on your form. “Knew something was wrong earlier, of course. Hadn’t gotten her menses yet. Girls in my family always get it young. I was ten myself. Happened in church--I was wearing all white.”

Swallowing hard, you try to drown her out. You try to just listen to the humming lightbulb. But you can’t.

“She doesn’t ovulate,” your mama continues, shaking her head. A steady stream of gravy flows down her chin--she doesn’t move to clean it. “No eggs wanna take that chance.”

Quit it, mama you want to hiss. You don’t move.

“We weren’t heartbroken,” your mama continues, glancing at your daddy. “Were we?”

“No. No we were not,” your daddy answers. He sits back in his chair with his arms folded over his chest. “Apples don’t ever fall far from the tree.”

Your brother snickers.

“She’d leave all her apples on the ground. Rotten, maggot-infested. Nasty things,” your brother says. He’s chewing with his mouth wide open--there’s mashed peas in his back molars. “God knew what he was doing.”

“Amen,” your daddy says.

“Pass the peas, ma,” your brother says.

You wake up suddenly.

The waterbed is sloshing beneath your form as you sit up straight, gasping for a breath of the cool breeze floating in through your open window. Your lungs feel stunted, like you can’t fill them up all the way. And when you press your palm to your chest, all the heat of your skin makes your hand sizzle.

“Fuck,” you whisper, blinking through the darkness.

It’s late, past three in the morning. You should be sleeping still, should be getting all the shut-eye you can get for the shoot in a few hours.

Instead, though, you throw your covers off and plant your feet firmly on the shag carpet, blinking at the dark. Your thighs are quivering, your lip wobbling.

Fucking Hell.

This is the first time you’ve dreamed of home since you left it. And you hope--sincerely and truthfully--that it is the last time you ever dream about it. It’s a strange thing really, because you knew you were home: the flyraps, the big kitchen table, the chipped china, the chicken shit. But it didn’t feel like home anymore--it just felt like a place you used to live.

In the middle of this dark almost-morning, you blink at the painting on the wall and wonder, for the first time, if there exists a home for you. It prickles the skin on your thighs to think about it--a place you exist and keep existing that feels like yours. Home.

You don’t turn any lights on as you walk, barefoot in your nighty, across the quiet house and to the telephone in the foyer. Rooster doesn’t sleep well usually--you don’t want to disturb him, not over something as trivial as a nightmare. A part of you, one that is stunted in its growth, wants to slink into his bed and snuggle into his chest and selfishly wake him up so he can comfort you.

Instead, you dial the number. It’s something you’ll never forget--you know that. Does anybody ever forget their home phone number?

A part of you still feels like you’re dreaming--like everything is fuzzy and warm and confusing. Nothing quite feels real yet, especially since the sun has not risen and your eyes are still puffy with exhaustion. Even the phone against your ear, all the heavy and hard plastic that purrs as it rings the ugly rotary phone on the kitchen counter in Nebraska, feels more like a toy than anything else.

It’s five in the morning in Nebraska, which means that your family is up. Your mama starts the coffee at four-thirty and has breakfast ready by the time your daddy walks out of the bedroom in his overalls and mucking boots at five-fifteen. Right now, your mama is probably frying bacon and dropping biscuits in a cast iron pan, her hair pulled back into a bun and her face void of any color. It’s still winter there. It always snows in March in Nebraska.

You don’t even really know what you’re doing. What are you doing?

The line rings and rings, your grip growing moist around the telephone.

Home. It seems like a very far away place. And not even just in distance--but in memory. You aren’t sure what kept you there for so long--that little shitty room and your mean older brother and your quiet daddy and your unhappy mama. Why were you bringing the ax down on chickens day in and day out when you could’ve been here the entire time?

You shift all your weight to the left side of your body, holding your hand to your cheek, wondering why you haven’t hung up yet. You wonder, too, why no one has answered. You know that they’re awake. You know that your mama is only a few paces from the telephone. You know your brother is probably sipping coffee now.

It rings for a long time. No one picks up.

With a breath caught between your teeth, the thought of your mother’s lips stained with gravy still pressed into your frontal lobe, you let the phone fall back on the receiver.

Rooster isn’t sleeping. He feels like he never is, even when his entire body is sore from the afternoon he spent on the beach with you yesterday. He wants to sleep--wants to sleep so badly that he’s had his eyes closed for the past two and a half hours, unwilling to interrupt what might happen.

So, when he hears your bare feet on the tile outside of your room, he finally opens his eyes and glances at the alarm clock on his nightstand: 3:10 AM. You must not be able to sleep either. He knows you’re trying to be quiet--you always feel bad about waking him up--but you can’t exactly be quiet in such an open, cavernous house. Even your bare feet on the tile echo down the hall and into his room.

He hears your footsteps coming closer just after 3:17. What have you been doing for seven minutes? Certainly not getting a snack--you haven’t been eating much these days, especially not in the middle of the night.

You knock on Rooster’s door hesitantly, something resembling grief sitting thick and heavy on your tongue. Your lip is still wobbling, your breaths still stunted.

“Come in,” Rooster calls at once, sitting up on his elbows.

The door swings open and you stand in the doorway, dressed in that little red nighty. Your hair is wonky from the pillow and your eyes are little slits, but what makes Rooster’s spine stiffen is your posture. You usually stand so straight and proud, your shoulders squared and your jaw stiff. But right now, you’re almost cowering: shoulders drooping, legs bowed, eyes downcast, lips bitten.

“Hey, daddy,” you sigh. You still haven’t gotten off the Daddy Warbucks jokes--Rooster is beginning to think you never will. “Want some company?”

Rooster pats the chilled sheets beside him, eyebrows knit.

“C’mere, baby.”

Closing the door behind you, you crawl into bed with him, glancing at the Joni Mitchell painting mounted above the bed before you climb on top of Rooster. He takes it in stride, opening the covers for you, letting you nuzzle your face into his throat and slot your legs between his. He even tucks you both in under the covers, pulling them up to your neck before he encircles you in his arms and holds you against him.

He likes to lay with you like this, even if his legs eventually fall asleep. He can feel everything you do--breathe, swallow, sigh, speak, flex, hiccup, fidget, twitch. All those little things that keep you alive, he can feel against his skin.

“Can’t sleep?” Rooster whispers, kissing the top of your head.

You sigh softly, shaking your head.

“I was asleep,” you whisper. “Then I had this gnarly nightmare. I mean, it was a nightmare and a half.”

Rooster nods. He knows about nightmares--his mother used to have them a lot towards the end. He can still remember pressing the cool cloth against her forehead, shushing her, luring her back to a fitful sleep.

“Oh, yeah?” He asks softly, pressing his fingers to the back of your neck. You nod against him. “What, did you dream you were living at Hangman’s pad instead of mine?”

Pinching him softly for teasing you, you shake your head.

“I don’t think I even wanna talk about it,” you mumble.

And really--you don’t. What are you supposed to say, anyway? It was just a nightmare. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Okay, okay,” Rooster whispers. “What should we talk about then?”

“Don’t you wanna sleep?”

Rooster scoffs.

“Me? Sleep?” He asks. “C’mon, baby. Get real.”

“Why don’t you sleep anyway? Don’t jive me.”

Rooster swallows hard. He hasn’t been asked that in a long time. A million years ago, when Phoenix would spend the night in his bed, she tried just about everything under the sun to get him to sleep. Lavender on his bedside table, chamomile tea after dinner, even acupuncture once. But she never thought to ask why he doesn’t sleep well. The only person who had asked was his doctor a handful of years ago, who only half-listened, anyway.

You’re waiting patiently for his response, not pushing and not pulling. You’re content in your spot on his body, just waiting for his answer as you measure your breaths in terms of calmness and softness. You know, even without really knowing, that’s what Rooster needs right now.

“Remember how I told you about my ma? And how she was sick?” He asks you. You nod against him. He clears his throat, smoothing his palm down your spine and letting it rest at the base. “Well, I was taking care of her and filming for Dennis, you know? So, I was spread pretty fuckin’ thin. Needed to be bright eyed and bushy tailed for filming, but had to wake my ma up for her meds during the night, too. To give it to you straight, baby, I just didn’t have time to sleep. That’s how I got on speed.”

Speed. You try to imagine it--Rooster on cocaine. But you can’t really imagine him high, can’t imagine his pupils blown and his mouth wide open.

He feels it when your body stiffens just slightly, when you jolt with realization.

“I didn’t know that,” you tell him.

He swallows.

“No one does, kid,” he tells you. “Anyway, she used to get these night terrors, too. Nasty side effect of all those pills she was on, you know? So, I guess I kinda got used to not sleeping.”

“You adapted,” you whisper to him. “Like a survival tactic. Evolution.”

He nods.

“I guess I did. I was strung out all the time.”

What he doesn’t tell you, what he hasn’t told anybody in the world, is that he sleeps like a baby when you’re in his bed. You’re an impolite sleeper, throwing yourself across his body, attaching your lips to his chest, needling your limbs through his. He thought that would make sleeping worse, thought that your hot breath on his throat would keep him up. But then he woke up late in the morning, eyes crusted with sleep, muscles slack.

You sit up slightly, just enough for you to look into his eyes. They’re big and brown, staring back into yours just as sadly as yours are looking into his. You cup his cheek, swipe your thumb along his stubble. He holds you tighter against him like it’s an instinct.

“You’re so good,” you tell him, really meaning it. “Do you think we deserve each other?”

His throat is entirely dry.

“How do you mean, baby?”

“I’ve never done anything good in my life,” you tell him. You’re not exactly upset by this--it’s just something you’re stating. “You know, I’ve never, like, lived for anyone else. It’s always been the Cherry Show. You dig?”

He thinks for a moment, not really sure what to say. He studies you, your creased brow and your earnest eyes. You look so honest bathed in the moonlight, nothing to hide from him.

“Who says we’re supposed to live for other people?” Rooster asks.

“The bible,” you answer.

He chuckles lightly.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot how religious you are,” Rooster teases. “Cherry, I didn’t choose to live for my ma. There really wasn’t any other option.”

You nod, chewing your lower lip.

“But you did it,” you tell him.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I did.”

“And you’d do it again, I bet,” you answer.

He doesn’t even have to think about it. He just nods.

Yeah, he’d do it again. He would.

“What do you think it means that I can’t have babies?” You ask him.

You’ve never asked anyone else this before. Honestly, you’ve never really wondered about it. It doesn’t break your heart. It’s a reality you’ve been living with since you were fourteen-years-old.

“Nothing,” Rooster answers without missing a beat. “Nada. Zilch.”

Cheek returning to his chest, you nuzzle yourself against him.

“Do you think it’s some, like, cosmic sign?” You ask him. “Like, I’m too fucked up to be someone’s ma. My apples are rotten or something.”

Rooster shakes his head profusely, tutting.

“You could never make something rotten,” he tells you seriously. He holds you tight against his body, tight like he’s about to shoot the both of you off into outer space and he has to keep you buckled into him. He has to keep your bodies together when gravity is gone and you’re all each other has. “You’ve done plenty of good in your life, kid. I know it. I swear it.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you two settle into each other. You sleep together often, not bound to your room by anything other than conventionality. Your room is his room and his room is your room. More often than not, you fall asleep on the couch with your head in his lap or by the pool during a party or in his bed after fucking.

His body is solid beneath yours, anchoring you to this waterbed, this earth.

Your body on top of his is heavy with comfort, something he is used to now.

“Do you think they miss me?” You whisper.

Rooster knows that you’re talking about your family.

He swallows. You’ve never talked about them before--not in terms of your absence.

“Sure, I’ll bet they do,” Rooster answers. “Unless they’re dumb.”

Maybe they are dumb.

“You know, I called them just now. Let it ring. No one picked up. I don’t think anyone’s tried to find me,” you whisper. You don’t sound sad about this exactly--just factual, serious. “Like, I don’t know how they would. I’m not a minor, you know? And I’m not a Californian legally. But--I don’t know, I guess I thought there’d be something. Like, maybe I’d show up on a milk carton sometime. Or at least a flier.”

“Is that what you want, kid?” Rooster whispers, tone even and fair.

You shrug.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “I don’t wanna go back. I don’t even really wanna, like, see them ever again. I feel like I’ve made my peace with that. But then sometimes I think about how I left home and never came back. And I think about what they did with all my stuff--not that I even care about it, anyway. But where is it? Did Carlton take my room?”

You’re almost positive that you know the answers to these questions. Your stuff is probably ashes now, burned out in the east pasture when it was dry enough--that’s what your family does with trash. Carlton probably didn’t take your room, not when his has enough space for a double bed.

Rooster just listens.

“And--what, do they think about me? Or did I just, like, peace out and they were stoked? All the photographs of me on the wall and the art I made when I was little--where does it go now? Do they have a daughter still?”

Both of you are quiet for a moment.

“Cherry,” Rooster whispers. He kisses the top of your head again, letting his lips linger there as he breathes in the soap on your scalp. “Do you want them to be your parents?”

Slowly, you shake your head. No. You don’t.

“Then they aren’t,” he tells you. “Simple as that.”

“Says who?” You whisper. Your eyes are growing heavy.

“Says me,” he tells you. “We can be orphans together, huh?”

“You’re twisted,” you laugh.

He keens at the sound of your laugh--you’re okay. You’re okay.

“Untwist me, then,” he mumbles.

You sigh, raking your fingers across the hair that grows on his chest.

“Can’t,” you breathe. “I’m twisted, too. Perverted, really.”

Rooster’s grinning now.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I’ll prove it to you.”

He kisses the top of your head again and inhales all of that Cherry that sits so thickly there.

“No more doom and gloom tonight, baby,” he tells you. “Why don’t you go to sleep, huh? I’ll stay up and scare off any more nightmares, okay?”

He used to tell his ma that, too, all those years ago. He’d take a few bumps, sit in a wooden chair beside her bed, and watch her face contort as she slept. He would wake her up before the nightmares would twitch her awake.

“I love you, Roo,” you tell him.

“I love you, Cherry-girl,” he tells you. “You’re my baby.”

☿

The bump you took with Jake before filming sets in as you’re standing in the shitty saloon the prop team threw together in a few days, a tight bustier pushing your breasts up to an almost unnatural height. You’re backed up against the wall by Jake, who’s wearing a leather vest and no shirt with a cartoonishly large cowboy hat.

“Well, I do declare that you are the rudest man I’ve ever encountered!” You say, clutching your faux pearls. There’s a slight Southern twang lilting your voice, one you and Jake worked on for a little bit a week ago. “I am a spoken-for woman, Mister Cowboy!”

Jake is feverishly kissing your throat, nipping and sucking, caging you against the wall with his hands firmly planted on the wood. The camera is close to you two, zooming in on his lips against your skin. You know better by now than to look directly in its lens unless Dennis directs it.

“Shut your trap, lady,” Jake responds. You two ran lines for an hour before shooting, then each took a bump to get your blood pumping. The two of you can recite this script forwards and backwards by now. “If you really wanted me to stop, you’d use that gun I know you’re holding!”

The prop gun--a silly five-barrel pistol--is pressed into the cheap fabric of your skirt. You pull it out, just like you rehearsed, and press it against Jake’s taut belly.

“Fine! You caught me. Don’t underestimate me, boy! I will shoot you dead! You’re an outlaw, afterall. Everyone will thank me!”

Dennis is sitting in his usual chair, smoking a cigar, following along with the script. He’s pleasantly surprised at how easily you memorize scripts and how seamless your line interpretation is.

He’s already had a couple calls from other big producers asking about you, trying to sniff out your contractual obligations. But Dennis isn’t fretting about it--you’re locked in tight with him. And with the way things are going now, your popularity rapidly on the rise, he knows you’re gonna be bringing him the big bucks.

Jake’s pupils are blown. As you look into each other’s eyes, hearts racing, you both recognize that the other is high. Yes, the bump has definitely got your blood pumping.

“I reckon you’re too much of a lady to shoot a gun,” Jake says, giving you his best snarl. You look up at him with big doe eyes and parted lips, your cheeks hot. “Prove me wrong, sugar. Shoot me.”

You’ve rehearsed this bit a few times--you gritting your teeth and attempting to squeeze the trigger. Jake staring down at you with a smirk, still holding your body against the wall. Then you gasping melodramatically, letting the gun fall to the floor.

“See,” Jake smirks. “I’ll bet I can make you do some unladylike things, sugar.”

And at that, just like you practiced, Jake swiftly rips the bustier wide open and exposes your bare breasts. After you gasp, widening your eyes and pressing your shoulders against the wall, Jake hungrily kisses down your sternum and starts to kiss your breasts.

“Perfect,” Dennis says from behind the camera. He takes a long drag, crossing his legs. “Make sure you’re still biting, Hangman. You’re an outlaw.”

Something is cold in your belly, coiled up like a snake. When your eyes flutter shut as Jake sinks his teeth into your nipple, your mind hums with nothingness. You’re not really here right now, you’re somewhere else. Somewhere on your own, somewhere that your face is on every milk carton and where every lamppost has fliers covering every square inch of them. You’re somewhere wrapped up in Jake and Rooster, smushed between them, keening at their lips against your cheeks and their warm bodies against yours.

“Cherry,” Dennis says, suddenly pulling you from that warm place. “You missed your line, babydoll.”

Wrenching your eyes open, you blink at Jake and then at Dennis. Jake is cupping your breasts for decency purposes so you’re not entirely exposed in front of the crew. Brows furrowed, he’s staring down at you.

“God, I’m such a space cadet today! I’m sorry, Dennis!” You say, heat spreading across your chest. “It won’t happen again! Swear it!”

Dennis nods, lips flat.

“We’ll pick it back up from I turn little ladies like you into whores. Alright? Let’s fuck.”

Jake nudges you with his forehead, eyes finding yours.

“Y’good, berry?”

You nod hurriedly.

“Never better,” you whisper.

By the time you wrap up, it’s almost sunset. You’re sore from being fucked so harshly, which is what Dennis called for, but you’re satisfied at least. The coke is wearing off and you’re in your jumpsuit again now, sprawled out over the couch in Jake’s dressing room as he combs his mustache in the mirror.

“Y’alright, Cherry-berry?” He asks, glancing at you.

You’re twiddling your thumbs, blinking up at the ceiling.

“Yeah,” you answer. “I’m groovy.”

He knows you aren’t telling the truth. You’re quiet. Usually, after filming, you’re asking for notes and telling Rooster how stellar he was and buzzing. You practically bounce off the walls after filming. Even though this is your first scene with Jake, he knows all this. He knows that something is off about the way you’ve totally thrown yourself over the couch.

“Something’s on your mind,” Jake says softly. You won’t return his gaze, eyes trained on the ceiling as you fidget. You haven’t even bothered to take off the Western-themed makeup, so your cheeks are ridiculously pink and there’s a little beauty mark above your lip. “Lay it on me, honey.”

The truth is that you’ve been thinking about it all day--why your parents didn’t answer the telephone. They were all in the kitchen, just a few paces away from the telephone. Your family will answer the phone during meals--even supper. They never go out of town overnight. There is no possible way they knew you were the one calling besides intuition, but even then, it seems unlikely. Why didn’t they pick up?

Rooster made you feel better--holding you close, stroking your hair. But as soon as Jake picked you up this morning to drive to the set, that doom and gloom rolled in like a thick fog in the distance.

“Cherry,” Jake says, drawing you from the dark corners of your brain. He’s facing you now, arms crossed over his chest. “C’mon. What’s going on?”

Finally, you turn your cheek and look at him. His pupils are still blown, but his gaze is unwavering and earnest.

“Had a wicked nightmare,” you tell him. You sigh, swallowing hard. “Just…thinking about that, I guess.”

Jake studies you for a moment. You look deflated, tired. He doesn’t know it, but you slept with Rooster last night, letting your head rest in the crook of his neck all night. The nightmare disturbed you, but your parents not answering your one and only call disturbed you to the point of needing human connection. Jake doesn’t know any of this, but he knows that you need some air pumped back into you.

“What was it?” He asks. He leans against the mirror now, still staring at you. “Trust me--I’m a dream decoder on the weekends.”

You bite your lip.

“Finally had to get that side-gig, huh?” You tease. “Shame that fucking didn’t work out for you, cowboy.”

Jake waits quietly for you to tell him, a smile tugging on his lips.

“It was bogus, really,” you finally start, his silence nudging you towards the truth. You run your palms up and down your bare arms, your eyes untrained and lingering on the naked bulbs that line the mirror. “Back home in Nebraska, lying naked on the dinner table like a cadaver or something freaky like that. Family just eating dinner around me like everything’s hunky-dory. Started talking about me being all…twisted up inside. You know, like, baby-wise.”

Jake nods. His fingers are beginning to tremble. He needs another bump, but he’s straining through the cold sweats and the dry mouth to listen to you. He cares about you--more than he expected himself to--and he cares about what you have to say about nightmares and dreams. He thinks, even, that he would listen to you talk about paint drying. He just cares. Simple as that.

He’s trying to be good for you. He hasn’t tried to be good for anyone since Gentry.

“What else?” He asks.

In the warm glow of the room, you look very soft right now. In fact, for the first time since he’s met you, Jake thinks that you look young. That’s what you look like--a girl. A lost little girl. But then he blinks and you’re Cherry again, sinking your teeth into your lip and stretching your arms above your head.

He really needs a bump.

“I guess that’s all,” you answer, sighing. “It’s kinda just given me bad vibes all day. You dig?”

You aren’t sure why you’re telling these fragmented truths. You aren’t sure why you’re telling two halves of the truth to different people, allowing integral parts of the story to stay shrouded in the dark. Rooster knows that you called. Jake knows what your dream was. Maybe if they ever talk about you with each other, maybe if they connect the dots, they’ll understand a part of you that even you don’t understand right now.

“Here,” Jake says, fishing in the pocket of his jeans as he crosses the room to you. He sinks to his knees, the buttermints container in his hand. “I’ve got something that’ll put a little pep in your step.”

He strokes your hair and you bite your lip again, eyes trained on the container.

“I don’t think Rooster digs it when we get high and he doesn’t,” you tell Jake, wringing your hands together. “He kinda gets stuffy, doesn’t he?”

You’re thinking about what Rooster told you last night--how he used blow to stay up and keep staying up. You can’t imagine, really, just how spread thin he was by the end of it all.

Rooster doesn’t outwardly try to be in a bad mood when you and Jake are high--but you know that he is. You’re hypervigilant to his moods, which is something that happened suddenly and completely one day. Every twitch of his mouth, wrinkle of his nose, nod of his head reads so clearly to you. You know when he’s losing his patience, when he’s holding in a laugh, when he wants to say more but won’t.

Jake scoffs, cupping your cheek. His palm is clammy on your face.

“That’s just cause he’s got a stick up his ass about sobriety,” Jake tells you. He pinches your cheek softly. “C’mon, we don’t have to go to his pad. We can go anywhere you want, Cherry-berry. The beach, The Dresden. Shit, we can go to fucking Vegas for all I care!”

You sit up on your elbows, chewing the inside of your cheek. You want to feel better--you want that more than anything right now. You don’t want to feel bare naked anymore today unless you’re neck deep in the ocean.

“Vegas? You really are an idiot savant, cowboy,” you tell him, grinning. You nod for him to open the container and he beams at you.

“I ain’t just a woofin’, honey,” he tells you, making quick work of opening the container. “I’m the real deal.”

“No phonies here,” you agree.

He takes a bump first, a long and hard snort. And then, like he always does, he spreads the flowery stuff against your gums. You swallow, letting your eyes fall shut as the familiar feeling numbs your mouth.

“I’ll never get over how foxy you are,” Jake tells you, shaking his head.

He means it, too--you sucking on his finger, eyes fallen shut, blue eyeshadow caked on your eyelids--you really do something to him.

“Eat your heart out,” you tell Jake, grinning.

He kisses you suddenly, quickly. His lips are wet and parted, his tongue pressing itself onto yours as he holds your neck gently.

“Let’s go to the beach, huh?” You whisper against his mouth. “We can skinny dip in the ocean.”

“Don’t be a bunny,” Jake tells you, resting his forehead against yours. “We’ve gotta eat before then, huh? Let’s purge on some burgs!”

☿

Rooster watches the sunset outside, hands on his hips and foot tapping impatiently on the concrete, in between incessantly checking his wristwatch. You left early this morning, detangling yourself from him and pressing a thousand kisses to his face before bounding out the door. He knows you must be done shooting by now--but you’re not home.

It isn’t that he has plans for the two of you or anything. You’re not late for some big dinner, you don’t have a date, he doesn't have Cockwalk 3 for you to watch, he doesn’t necessarily have anything planned for the two of you except to sit in each other’s company.

And he hates it, really, that it’s upsetting him so much. He expected you home by dusk, if not earlier than that. He expected to order a pizza and have a few drinks--maybe even go out and grab dinner. You’ve been talking about getting your own car now that you’ve gotten a few paychecks--he thought you could talk about that tonight.

He hates it that he’s worried about you not having a cardigan with you because even though you tell everyone you’re hotblooded, you get cold. And he knows that your ego is too big to admit it--which is why you always nuzzle yourself into him as the night grows darker, cooler. He hates that he knows that if you’re with Jake, he won’t recognize that you’re cold. He isn’t Rooster--he won’t shrug off his jacket and give it to you and you won’t ask.

He hates that he feels like a father waiting for his daughter to come home. He hates that he feels like someone’s old man left in the dust, worrying himself sick about you being cold or lost or hurt or upset.

He hates that he was waiting all day for you to come home, replaying your conversation before bed, rubbing the knots out of his spine from your body weight resting on him all night. He’s been smiling today, finally well-rested. He hates that he slept so well last night, hates that he only sleeps that well when you’re in his bed.

He doesn’t even have it in him to finish his Tom Collins. He leaves it on the tiki bar, ice melting in the highball glass, and doesn’t bother to shoo any of the bugs away when they come to collect its sugary contents.

Just past midnight, you’re leaning against the passenger door of Jake’s car, damp hair dancing in the wind as Jake drives you home. You’re still in your jumpsuit, though it’s soaked thoroughly with ocean water now. Your shoes are tossed somewhere in the backseat, your makeup is smudged, and there’s sand all over your body--from your bellybutton to your toes to your ears.

You’re coming down now, having taken more bumps today than you even care to remember. That ecstasy is fading as the morning grows nearer and nearer, as unavoidable as Rooster’s going to be when you get home.

Jake is still high, taking a bump just before hopping behind the wheel, and he has the radio turned up too loud. Pretty Baby by Blondie is thumping through the speakers and vibrating your tongue.

You feel like you can’t talk right now. You’re so full. Full of burgers, coke, cum, sand, ocean water. And even if you were clean--if you were freshly bathed and crawling into clean sheets--you would still feel too full. Too much emotion, too much regret, too much sex. You’ve been fucked five times today, all by Jake, and you’re sore all over.

Cherry Arsan is always game--but right now, you just want to go home and sleep. Maybe that means you’re not Cherry right now. Or maybe you just don’t know her as well as you thought. You’re too tired to decide what is right and what is wrong.

You don’t even know that you’re asleep until you’re suddenly being lifted from the front seat of Jake’s car and thrown over his shoulder.

“Oh,” you say softly, balling his shirt in your hands. It’s still wet, still sandy. “Didn’t mean to be a buzzkill, cowboy.”

Jake shakes his head, starting for Rooster’s front door with you still slung over his shoulder. Your jumpsuit is wedged between your cheeks and you don’t have it in you to fix it. You don’t even have it in you to hold your head up--you’re just limp on his body.

“It’s alright now, honey,” Jake tells you, perky as ever. His high hasn’t faded yet--he isn’t sure if it’s from his orgasm or the coke, but he is far from complaining. “Just chill.”

Rooster’s waiting in the foyer. He heard Jake from all the way down the street, tires screeching and radio booming. He drives too damn fast, especially when he’s high--it irks Rooster.

“Honey, we’re home!” Jake sings loudly as he bursts through the front door.

Jake is surprised when he sees Rooster standing right in front of him. Rooster is still in his collared shirt and slacks, his belt and wristwatch still intact. Usually, by midnight, Rooster would be in his pajamas. And if that isn’t indication enough that something is off with Rooster, his body language is a dead giveaway. His arms are crossed over his chest, his posture is stiff, his eyes are narrowed, and his jaw is set.

Rooster is, simply put, fucking furious.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Rooster hisses, crossing the foyer and pulling you off Hangman’s shoulder and onto your feet. “You can’t carry her like that!”

Jake just rolls his eyes, bumping you with his elbow.

“I think dad’s pissed,” he whispers to you, eyeing Rooster.

Rooster doesn’t smile.

“You alright, kid?” Rooster asks.

“Groovy, baby,” you tell him. Your voice is quiet--thin. “Just need to get some shut-eye.”

Then begins his examination of you. He tilts your face from side to side, taking note of the heat in your cheeks and the sand in your hair. He notices the little bite marks scattered along your collarbones and chest and the way your jumpsuit is ruined with saltwater and sand. Your makeup is running off your face, your skin is peak-ed, and your shoulders are slumped. There’s even a dash of white powder on your top lip and he knows exactly what that is.

Jake is whistling, kicking his shoes off and heading towards the bar to make himself a drink.

“Did you nab any more Aperol?” Jake asks. “You’ve been out for a hot minute, brother!”

Rooster chews on his bottom lip.

“You’re not on my good side right now, man,” Rooster tells Jake, his tone still even but deep and serious. “I think you need to just go the fuck to bed.”

Your ears are ringing. You’re exhausted, wilting where you’re standing.

Jake just raises his eyebrow at Rooster, still looking through his liquor collection.

“But, dad! I’m not tired! Please let me stay up until the television signs off!” Jake teases, chuckling.

Rage is burning hotly in his veins now, which he isn’t all that familiar with. He usually doesn’t let himself get this angry, especially not at Jake. But there’s something about the state you’re in right now that’s changing that.

“I’m not fucking around,” Rooster tells Jake, hands on his hips. “If you wanna keep partying, fine. But you’re not doing it here.”

Jake freezes finally, heart racing still.

He straightens himself, beholds Rooster standing in front of you with his chest puffed out like he’s some sort of hero.

“Yeah? How come?” Jake asks coolly.

“I had no idea where you two were tonight,” Rooster says, narrowing his eyes at Jake. “And I was expecting Cherry home by dinnertime, man. I was worried sick.”

Jake blinks at Rooster.

“Baby’s got a bedtime, huh?” He says, glancing at you. “She didn’t tell me that.”

“I don’t have a fucking bedtime,” you sneer quietly, reaching for the buttons of your jumpsuit, which you fumble with. “Get real.”

“Listen,” Rooster says, holding a hand up at Jake. “You can tease and fuck with me all you want, but I’m not gonna sit here and act like this is hunky-dory, alright? If you wanna fuck around, get high, and fuck on the beach then do that. But don’t drag Cherry into it!”

Jake scoffs.

“Yeah, she wasn’t exactly kicking and screaming, man,” Jake tells Rooster. “Don’t know if you know this, but she’s not your fucking orphan, man. She can make her own choices. Which she did--and she chose to fuck around with me tonight. Sorry that pisses you off.”

Now Jake is pissed, anger burning the tips of his ears.

Rooster and Jake stare at each other, both of their jaws tight with irritation. You slink out of your jumpsuit and leave it in a wet heap on the tile. You’re almost naked now except for the panties you have on, which are ripped from earlier today.

“I find it hard to believe that she asked you to get her high,” Rooster says finally.

When you walk out before him, fully intending to get away from the two men that are arguing over something that’s making your head pound, he suddenly reaches out and halts you with a big hand on your shoulder.

“Really?” Rooster asks Jake, scoffing. “Had to mark her up, huh? Jesus, man. You can’t be doing that. Not in this line of work.”

He’s talking about the love brands that cover the back of your throat and the top of your back, little purple bruises.

Jake holds his hands on his hips, growing hotter under the collar.

“Oh, cause you didn’t mark her up nice and good over Valentine’s Day, huh?” Jake asks. Rooster pales a bit, but doesn’t break his gaze from Jake. “She wanted it, man. That’s why I did it!”

It’s true--you did want to be marked up a bit. You were high when you asked him to do it and he was already taking you from behind up against the hood of his car. In that moment, as he suckled your skin and bruised it, you felt like you belonged to someone. Like actually, thoroughly belonged to someone.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m sure you’re all about what Cherry wants, right? And you never do anything because it’s what you want, huh?” Rooster spits. He shakes his head at Jake and scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t fucking jive me, man.”

“What’s your problem, man?” Jake asks, truly incredulous. “Cherry isn’t yours.”

Cherry isn’t yours.

It echoes in the house, knocks against your skull like a brick. It sobers you, opens your eyes, stops the pounding in your ears.

“Fuck off,” you suddenly sneer, lips twisted. Jake stumbles in place, eyebrows raised. But then you turn to Rooster and narrow your eyes at him, too. “Both of you.”

They’re both shocked--blinking at you with their mouths agape. How you’ve managed to render them speechless--smaller, younger, and naked--is truly a power that only you possess.

“Don’t fucking talk about me like I’m not here,” you say, stepping out of Rooster’s grip and looking at the both of them. Their shoulders are starting to wilt. “I can do whatever the fuck I want, alright? I can fuck whoever I want, I can eat whatever I want, I can snort whatever I want. Don’t fucking box me in, man.”

“I wasn’t trying to box you in,” Rooster says, his voice even again. “I was worried about you.”

Liquid magma is boiling in your belly.

“Well, don’t worry about me!” You tell him, hands raised. There’s suddenly water in your eyes now, weighing down your lashes. “It’s pointless.”

What you mean is: you can go missing and no one will look for you--not even your parents. And they won’t answer the phone, either.

You turn to Jake, ignore Rooster’s gaze burning the back of your head.

“Don’t call me a baby,” you tell Jake. He nods. “I’m not a baby--I’m not anyone’s fucking baby.”

It’s quiet for a moment--the only sound is your heavy breathing.

“Cherry,” Rooster starts, cheeks pink. “Listen, I’m--!”

“Goodnight,” you sharply interrupt, spinning on your heel and heading towards the bathroom.

You slam the door shut. Jake and Bradley both startle at the sound, cowering in each other’s gazes. All the anger has suddenly dissipated, vanished.

“Is it cool if I sleep in the spare?” Jake asks softly, testing the waters.

Rooster nods.

“Of course, man.”

☿

Rooster isn’t sure what to do.

He’s been waiting outside the bathroom for thirty minutes now. And before that, he was turning off all the lights and throwing your jumpsuit in the dirty laundry and changing into his pajamas. You’ve been in there for a long time--too long, really.

He has decided that he won’t be able to even lay down if he knows you’re upset with him. He doesn’t even know where it all went wrong, really. He was just worried about you. He just wants you to be okay. And right now, he doesn’t think that you are--not with makeup all over your face and love brands all over your body. He knows he fucked up, which he doesn’t often do. And he knows that he has to make it right.

Another ten minutes pass and he’s still standing motionless outside the bathroom. And finally, finally, he gets the courage to knock very softly a few times.

Your response is immediate.

“Come in.” Your voice is so little, almost lost beneath the crack of the door.

Rooster’s response is also immediate--at once, he’s turned the handle and come into the bathroom, beholding your wilted form before the counter. You’ve showered and shrugged your robe on. Now, you’re looking at yourself in the mirror, your cheeks tear-stained and your lips swollen.

“Baby,” Rooster whispers. He freezes when he remembers your words: don’t call me baby. I’m not anyone’s baby. But you don’t move to correct him. And your face doesn’t screw up with disgust. “I’m sorry.”

You nod, sniffling. There’s still makeup staining your face, despite having tired to scrub it all off in the shower.

“Me too,” you tell him. “I didn’t want to worry you. Was your night a total bummer?”

Rooster shakes his head. He wants to reach out and hold you close to him. He wants to kiss your face. But he keeps thinking about what Jake said, what you didn’t dispute: Cherry isn’t yours.

“No, baby,” Rooster says quietly. “But I’m glad you’re home.”

Home. The word feels so layered right now.

“Yeah,” you respond quietly.

There is almost too much to unpack right now. You have a million things to say to Rooster, all of which make you cry. And Rooster has a million things to say to you, each one achingly close to a confession of some sort. But it’s too late. You’re too tired, he’s too upset, Jake is too close, you’re still coming down. You can talk about all of it when you’re sober, when you haven’t been crying.

“Here,” Rooster says, catching your gaze in the mirror. He nods to the counter. “Hop up.”

You do without a word, facing him with your shoulders slouched.

He slots himself between your legs and takes the washcloth from your hand. He turns on the tap, lets it run warm as you fix your gaze on his bare belly. And then he holds your chin, tilts your face so you’re looking up at him. There’s that little hot coal sitting in both your bellies when you look at each other--all that honesty, all that love, all that respect, all that affection. It’s there, even now, after you told him to fuck off. Even after Jake said you weren’t his.

Tenderly, very tenderly, he begins to dab at the leftover makeup on your face. The washcloth is so warm that it prickles your spine. And Rooster’s gaze is so endearing, so full of adoration for you, that your bottom lip wobbles. He’s never seen you cry before--but he knows that’s what is going to happen when you start to blink rapidly.

But he’s good about it. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t call attention to it. Even when fat tears begin to roll down your cheeks, he just dabs at them and continues to wipe your face clean. When you sniffle, when snot begins to drip down your top lip, he doesn’t flinch: he just wipes it clean.

You two don’t speak for a long time. For a long time, the only sound in the room is him dipping the washcloth in the water, wringing it out, then pressing it to your skin. Little sniffles and wet breaths occasionally echo off the tile, too, but you know it’s something that you can’t stop and Rooster knows it’s nothing he can stop either. So, it just happens.

“There,” he whispers, setting the washcloth beside you and resting his palms on either side of your thighs. “All clean, baby.”

You’re still crying.

“Thanks a million,” you whisper to him. Your chin trembles. “I’m your baby, right?”

Rooster’s brows knit, but he nods immediately.

“Of course,” he tells you. “And you know what? I was about an hour away from calling the pigs and getting a search party started, baby. We’re talking every milk carton, every lamppost. Fliers plastered on department stores--the whole nine yards, baby.”

It makes you laugh, a thin and pathetic thing. And then it makes you sob.

That’s when Rooster finally wraps his arms around you, when you finally let yourself go and cry openly into his bare shoulder. And the scent of his skin, vetiver and cigar smoke, makes something settle in your belly.

This is home, you realize. This shoulder, this skin, this man, these arms.

This is home.

☿ 𝐚/𝐧: posting this here now that Tumblr has let me out of horny jail. I need all of you to know that I absolutely adore you and my time in Tumblr jail would've been miserable if not for all of you people. you're all my little chickens and I love you!

☿ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

☿ 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠

☿ 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬

@thedroneranger

@fandom-life-12

@avaleineandafryingpan

@popsycles

@guacala

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@oliviah-25

@zalmael

@chicomonks